What He Needs
by Koinaka
Summary: During one of his last conversations with his mom before she died, she told him that he couldn't always choreograph every moment in his life. When his father has a heart attack and nearly dies, he realizes how right she is. AU.
1. Chapter 1

What He Needs  
_or _  
How Kurt Hummel Finally Learned to Stop Planning His Life and Start Living it

By _Koinaka_

No, you can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
And if you try sometime you find  
You get what you need

- _You Can't Always Get What You Want, _The Rolling Stones

Chapter One

Kurt was three when his parents divorced. His memories of them together were scattered for the most part, but he liked to think they had been happy together. They seemed happy in all of the pictures he had of the three of them, at least, so he thought that it must be true.

He had always known that there was something off about their relationship growing up, but he had never been able to put his finger on exactly what it was. He wasn't the only kid around with divorced parents, but he was the only one that had divorced parents who actually got along. In all of his sixteen years, he'd never even heard an angry word exchanged. Of course, it helped that they never saw each other often since Kurt and his mom lived in Cincinnati where his grandparents lived and his dad lived in Lima.

Still, he knew that it was odd – especially since his best friend's parents used to fight all the time even though his dad lived all the way in California and would only see Sam once a year, if even that. Plus, he'd seen the way they looked at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. He'd always wondered why it was they were apart when it was obvious that they still loved each other.

His mother explained it to him once when he was fourteen and heartbroken over his first boyfriend breaking up with him. They were cuddled up on the couch together watching _The Sound of Music_ with the sound turned down so they could act out the parts themselves. This was one of Kurt's favorite things for them to do together.

"Sometimes, baby, love just isn't enough."

Her smile was sad, and while she was looking into the blank space above their television, Kurt had a feeling that her thoughts were a million miles away from their living room.

He did not have an unhappy childhood despite his parents' divorce. If anything, they tried that much harder to make sure he had everything he could ever want. He attended a string of private schools and had lessons in anything that might interest him – piano, voice once he was old enough, violin, and ballet were the only constants although there were other, more masculine, pursuits that were encouraged by his father during their shared summer vacations such as Little League – which lasted all of a week – Cub scouts – which lasted two weeks, and taekwondo – which had actually lasted for an entire summer. He even remembered going through a period when he was twelve where he was determined to be a figure skater after avidly following the 2006 Winter Olympics.

There were only two times in his life that he could remember being truly unhappy. Not the bummed out kind of unhappy you get when you have a bad day, but the kind of unhappy where you feel this awful pressure in your chest that just won't go away, and if just _one more thing_ goes wrong, you're sure that you'll do nothing but scream for the rest of your life kind of unhappiness.

The first time was during the summer between his freshman and sophomore year of high school. Normally, he spent the entirety of the summer with his father, but now that he was attending Dalton Academy, a boarding school, he had to split his summer vacation between his mom and dad. He was to spend the first half of the vacation with his dad before returning to Cincinnati, so he was surprised when he returned home from a piano lesson one afternoon only a week into his stay at his dad's to find his mom waiting for him in the living room of his dad's small house.

One look at their faces had been enough to tell him that something was definitely wrong. Not something, it turned out – _everything. _Everything was wrong because his mom had cancer, and he might not have known a lot about science or medicine, but he knew enough to know that there was no cure for it. He returned home with his mother that day, unable to even fathom being apart from her now that she was sick, and spent the rest of his days that summer in a whirlwind of doctor's appointments and treatments. At night, they would camp out in the living room with movies and magazines and eat copious amounts of whatever food his mom could keep down, mostly ice cream, without ever complaining about the caloric intake.

He hadn't wanted to return to Dalton in the fall. In fact, he and his mom had had a huge fight over it, the first fight he could ever remember them having, but in the end, he agreed to do so only because she insisted that it was what she wanted.

Once at school, it had been easy to pretend that nothing was wrong. There was a new student, Blaine Anderson, who Kurt instantly became friends with. Between his new friendship, his intense classes – IB was no laughing matter – and the Warblers, he was always busy, busy, busy. He still spoke to his mom every day, still went home every Friday night for their "Fabulous Friday Night Extravaganzas," but he was always so distracted by everything going on in his life he never noticed how tired and weary she sounded and looked.

It wasn't that he was selfish, not in the sense that he didn't care, because he _did _care, so much, but if he had thought about what was really happening with his mom – if he had so much as let his thoughts wander to the fact that his mom was _dying, _that every minute, every day, she was growing just a little closer to the end, then he wouldn't have been able to get out of bed much less function on the level that a rigorous school such as Dalton demanded. Besides, she had said everything was going great, and the cancer was responding to the treatment. She'd never lied to him before, so he hadn't even thought to consider that she might now.

Hindsight was always twenty/twenty because Kurt saw for himself over Winter break that she definitely was _not _doing great. Far from it, in fact, but they tried not to talk about it, choosing instead to have the best, most fabulous, Christmas ever. That it would be her _last _Christmas hung heavily between them, but they didn't talk about it.

Instead, they performed all of their favorite Christmas traditions even those that Kurt had really gotten a bit too old for, like hanging his stocking and reading _The Velveteen Rabbit _while drinking hot chocolate made with carob due to his chocolate allergy covered in goey marshmallows. On Christmas morning, they cooked an elaborate breakfast that was sure to add ten pounds to their hips and ate the entire thing in their pajamas cross-legged on the living room floor before opening their presents. They spent the rest of the morning gorging on food and watching their favorite old Christmas movies, _White Christmas_ for Kurt and _It's a Wonderful Life_ for his mom. The afternoon was spent napping while his Dad, who had showed up inexplicably around lunch, attempted to make Christmas dinner. By the time Kurt fell asleep that night, stuffed full of food and pleasant memories, he felt as if they had crammed in several years' worth of Christmases in that one day.

His mother had died the next day.

The second time Kurt was unhappy – truly unhappy – was when his father had a heart attack. It happened on a Friday. Friday nights were special nights for Kurt. They were the nights he used to spend with his mother. No matter what he was doing, no matter what was going on during the weekend, what big tests he might have the upcoming week, what completely ridiculous but _oh-so-important _bonding ritual the Warblers had planned, he always went home on Friday nights.

The Friday in question was doubly special for Kurt because it was the night of the Sing-Along Sound of Music, the first one since his mother's death less than a year ago. _The Sound of Music _was kind of their thing, and they'd gone to the Sing-Along every year for as long as he could remember. He hadn't wanted to go – _emphatically _hadn't wanted to go – but Blaine had convinced him to.

"You'll regret it if you don't. I know you will, Kurt. It was all you talked about for weeks beforehand last year, so I know it means a lot to you. I'll go with you, if you want," Blaine had told him over breakfast Monday morning when Kurt confessed he was thinking of not going.

"I don't know…" he trailed off, the words _'if I can go without her_' going needlessly unsaid.

Blaine had pulled him into a hug – a completely _platonic_ hug, thankyouverymuch, because despite what Sam might think or however he might wish otherwise, they are really just friends. "She wouldn't want you to miss it."

And Blaine was right; she wouldn't want him to miss it, to miss _any _of it, living, that is. He knows she wouldn't because they'd had this conversation, this meaningful conversation one Friday night last spring, before everything had changed where she talked to him candidly about sex and love and how it wonderful, _wonderful_, it could be – it _would _be – with the right person. They talked about other things, too, but it all boiled down to one thing: she hadn't wanted Kurt to miss out on anything.

"Not everything is going to be perfect," she had told him, "and that's okay. Sometimes the best things in life aren't perfect. Sometimes everything will be messy and hard and nothing like what you had planned on, but that's just life. You can't always choreograph every moment."

Kurt must have looked confused because she continued. "I just… I don't want you to get so worked up about the… execution of it all… that you forget to actually live. Do you understand what I mean?"

He hadn't, and he told her so. She had sighed but had also given him a fond smile though she had the faraway look she often got if she was talking about his dad. "Life isn't like your musicals, you know. _Love _isn't like your musicals. It's unpredictable and scary, but you can't let that stop you from taking risks. If you do, you'll always wonder what might have been. You don't want to spend your life wondering if you made the right decision or not. Just remember that nothing is perfect, Kurt. _No one _is perfect."

So, he'd agreed to go.

His dad had called him on Wednesday which was, if he was being honest, a little strange, because his dad didn't often initiate contact. They spoke dutifully once a week, on Sunday mornings generally, but Kurt always called him in between his morning ritual and Sunday brunch with Blaine.

"I want you to come home this Friday. I'm seeing someone, and I think it's time for you to meet her."

"Friday? I kind of already have plans with Blaine, Dad."

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "There will be other dates, Kurt. I'm asking you, as your father, for you to do this for me. It's important for me for you to be here. We don't see much of each other, I know, but I want to change that. You and me, we're a family now and that means something to me."

Kurt might not have wanted to go to the Sing-Along at first, but now that he had agreed to it – now that Blaine had agreed to go – he couldn't even imagine not going. It would be hard and weird going without her – he's already accepted the fact that he's likely to be crying far too hard to even sing – but he has to go. He knew if he told his dad why he couldn't go home on Friday, he would understand, but the thing of it is is that he didn't really _want _to tell him because this is – _was _– their thing, and it felt wrong to share it with his dad.

"I can't. I have plans with Blaine. I can come home on Saturday, but-"

His dad cut him off before he could even finish speaking. "I don't ask you for much, Kurt, but I haven't even seen you at all since you went back to that school of yours. I just thought…" he trailed off with a sigh. "I thought you would want us to be a family."

"I do. It's just… I've had these plans for months now," which is not exactly a lie because he'd gone every year, just… not with Blaine, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, so am I. I gotta say, I'm real disappointed in you, kid. I expected better from you," he said before hanging up.

He was sitting in his French class when his guidance counselor, Mr. Bartholomew, escorted him from the classroom to his office where he was told that his father had had a severe heart attack and that he would be excused from classes for at least the following week.

He managed to pack a suitcase of clothing along with the school things he knew he would need, there was always some sort of reading to be done that he might possibly be able to do in the hospital if for no other reason than to take his mind off of what was going on, and be on the road for Lima before the next bell even rang, quite a feat given the sheer expanse of his wardrobe and his meticulousness.

He arrived at the hospital and was ushered into the ICU waiting area only to come face-to-face with an unknown woman and an unknown, very _tall, _unknown boy.

The woman came up to him immediately. "You must be Kurt. Your father has told me so much about you. I'm Carole Hudson, and this is my son, Finn."

Kurt murmured a distracted _hello_ before focusing his attention on the door.

"They haven't told us much, only that he had some sort of arrhythmia and hasn't regained consciousness," Carole continued.

Kurt didn't move from his position the doctor himself came in and confirmed what Carole had already told him.

"There's nothing that can be done except to wait," the man said, apologetically. "If his condition improves, we can move him out of ICU in the next day or two, but until he wakes up, I'm afraid we won't know how much damage there is."

"Damage?" Kurt asked in a horrified tone. "What sort of damage?"

The doctor exchanged a look with Carole before speaking again. "Your father was without oxygen for some time. It is possible that there may be some brain damage because of that, but like I said, until he wakes up, we can't be certain."

With that final pronouncement, he left the three of them alone.

"How about we go down to the cafeteria and see what sort of food they have? I'm sure you boys are hungry. I know Finn is, he's always hungry."

It wasn't until he noticed that the tall boy, Finn, was wearing a letterman jacket that he put all of the pieces together.

"You're Finn Hudson!" he exclaimed.

The boy seemed taken aback at his tone. "Yeah, so what?"

"You go to McKinley."

"Yeah, and?"

"A friend of mine, Sam, just transferred there this year," Kurt told him. "He said you were in glee together and that you were an excellent singer."

Finn flushed but nodded all the same. "Yeah, I guess I am. Sam's pretty good, too."

That seemed to be Carole's cue to begin gushing about her son. Kurt followed them down to the cafeteria as she told him of her son's various achievements. He listened, politely, thankful for anything that would take his mind off his dad for the moment.

He would have to call Sam later on and see if he could stay with him while his dad was in the hospital. He knew that Molly, Sam's mom, wouldn't mind. In fact, she would probably insist on it.

They had been his best friends since they were eight years old, and Sam moved into the house next door following his parents' divorce. They didn't have much in common. Sam was athletic and a complete dork who would rather watch cheesy sci-fi movies instead of musicals while Kurt was artistic and a complete fashionista, but somehow they made their friendship work with some give and take on both of their sides. For example, Kurt had refused to sit through Avatar more than once, and Sam refused to shop with Kurt anymore after one measly traumatic experience during their freshman year.

Kurt had been upset when Sam told him the previous summer that his mother's new husband had been transferred to Lima and that they were moving immediately, but he had the solace of knowing that even if they didn't live next door to one another, they would still be attending Dalton and rooming together. When Sam told him that he wasn't returning to Dalton, Kurt had been nearly inconsolable. It hadn't been so bad, though. They talked on the phone nearly every day and texted constantly, although most of his texts lately revolved around the girl he was dating, Quinn.

Carole and Finn left after lunch – Carole, for work, and Finn, to head back to school for football practice – leaving him alone in the waiting room.

He sent both Sam and Blaine a text telling them what happened. Not even a full minute later, he received one back from Blaine saying that he was on his way and not to worry about a thing.

The next minute, Sam called. "I'll be there as soon as practice ends, okay? And Mom's already said you're staying with us, and dude, I don't think that's really up for discussion."

"What have I told you about calling me dude, Sammy?" Kurt asked sweetly, using Sam's most hated nickname.

There was a huff on the other end. "Fine, but no Sammy, either. Look, I know you're probably up there freaking out, but don't, okay? Your dad is one tough dude. He'll pull through."

"You don't know that," Kurt whispered, his voice thick with tears.

Sam sighed. "You're right. Just hang tight, okay? I'll be there soon, and so will Blaine. Oh… and try not to make too much fun of my hair when I get there."

"_What did you do to your hair_?" Kurt cried out but the line was already dead.

He was still staring at the call ended logo on his phone screen when a cheerful nurse came into the room to inform him that he could see his father now. He took a deep breath and followed her down the hall.

If he hadn't known for sure that his father had had a heart attack and was now in a coma, he would have thought he was just sleeping. It was only when he concentrated on the many tubes sticking out of him and the beeping of the various machines around that he knew his father wasn't just asleep.

Clutching his Marc Jacobs' bag, Kurt sank down into one of the chairs beside his dad's bed.

He had never been particularly close with his dad. He loved him, of course he did, but there was a gulf between them that no amount of time spent together had been able to bridge.

He had thought, at one point, that it was because he was gay, although his dad had been outwardly supportive when he finally told him the previous year going so far as to say he'd known since he was three. Maybe it was just the fact that they didn't spend much time together when he was growing up outside of the obligatory week during Christmas holidays and then the summer. Maybe it was because they didn't have anything in common. Cars and ballet didn't exactly mesh. Nor did sports and opera for that matter.

Whatever it was, Kurt vowed to bridge that gulf if his father recovered. Because his dad was right, they _were _a family now and that did matter.

* * *

*Edited on 5/12/11 for mistakes!*


	2. Chapter 2

What He Needs  
_or _  
How Kurt Hummel Finally Learned to Stop Planning His Life and Start Living it

By _Koinaka_

No, you can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
And if you try sometime you find  
You get what you need

- _You Can't Always Get What You Want, _The Rolling Stones

Chapter Two

The two days following his dad's heart attack went by in a blur of hospital rooms and waiting rooms. The ICU visitation policy only allowed two visitors every three hours for twenty minutes which meant that the majority of the time was spent in the ICU waiting area with Blaine and Sam.

Blaine had arrived on Friday afternoon with a flurry of _I'm so sorry _and _How are you doing_? He also came bearing Kurt's moisturizers, which he had inadvertently left in his haste to pack, and a stack of fashion magazines Kurt had been meaning to read when his workload at school lessened. He hadn't left Kurt's side once.

Sam had arrived about half an hour after Blaine, his now blonde – _blonde! _– hair still damp from his post-practice shower.

Kurt had taken one look at him and started laughing.

"Really, Sammy, because I don't make fun of you enough, what with your Na'vi language skills and your inappropriate boy crush on Daniel Radcliffe?"

Sam sighed as he dropped down into the chair next to Kurt. "For the last time, I don't have a boy crush on Daniel Radcliffe!"

Kurt gave him a look of disbelief. "I have one word for you: Equus."

Sam scowled but knew he had no rebuttal. The trio bantered good-naturedly for a while until a middle-age nurse turned up to tell Kurt that nothing had changed.

"Hey now, none of that," Sam said at Kurt's crumpled expression. "What did I tell you about being so negative? It sucks that he hasn't woken up yet, but you heard what the nurse said, nothing's changed which means that he hasn't gotten any worse. That's a good thing."

"I agree," Blaine said quickly, looking up from the magazine he was currently flipping through.

Kurt chewed on his lower lip for a minute before finally nodding. "I suppose that you're right," he said. "No change is better than a change for the worse, but still…"

Blaine cut him off. "No."

"What if he - " he started again.

It was Sam who cut him off this time. "No."

"You don't know that! He could - "

"No."

"_But _– he - "

"Absolutely not," Blaine said firmly, taking Kurt's hand in his own. "We're not going to play the what-if game, Kurt. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that everything is going to be okay because I don't know that, but at the same time, _you _don't know that it won't be. You'll drive yourself crazy if you sit here and worry about all of the things that could go wrong."

Kurt didn't say anything for several minutes. When he finally did speak, his voice was much stronger and there was a smile, albeit a forced smile, on his face. "You're absolutely right, of course." He sighed. "Thanks. I know I can be a little neurotic."

Blaine's smile caused butterflies to appear in Kurt's stomach. "No thanks needed! Besides, what are friends for?"

_Friends_. There was that word again. Kurt extracted his hand from Blaine's as gently as he could, his forced smile planted firmly on his face.

Sam's eyes darted from Blaine, who was once again flipping through his magazine, to Kurt's no doubt devastated expression, narrowing as he did.

It wasn't like Kurt didn't _know _they were just friends because he did, but sometimes Blaine had this maddening habit of acting like they weren't just friends. Holding hands, for example. Blaine was a very tactile person which went along well with Kurt's affectionate nature. This meant that the two friends engaged in lots of little behaviors that most certainly fell in the gray area of the just a friend—more than just a friend scenario. They held hands, hugged one another, and touched each other more than strictly necessary during conversations.

Kurt didn't take any of these overtures as Blaine having romantic feelings for him. He knew that Blaine's crushes – and he had been witness to a number of them – were typically demonstrated by inappropriate serenades in common rooms. Still, it sometimes made things very uncomfortable for him. Not to mention confusing. Especially as a number of people often made the mistake that they were a couple.

Sam reached over and squeezed his hand briefly. "So," he started off casually. "I didn't really dye my hair, you know. I knew you'd never let me hear the end of it if I did, so I used lemon juice instead. That's okay, right?"

"I suppose," Kurt said, a bit magnanimously. "You really should be careful though. Lemon juice is very acidic, and I can already tell that your hair looks dry, more than usual anyway. You should put a leave-in conditioning treatment on it. I have several I could recommend."

Sam fiddled with a piece of his hair, a dubious look on his face. "Doesn't feel damaged to me."

Kurt heaved a very put-upon sigh. "Of course it wouldn't. Not to you, but I bet your new love interest – Quinn, was it? – I bet she would say it felt damaged."

That was Sam's cue to sigh. "She's not my girl, not yet at least. I think we'd be really good together, but every time I get close to her, she pulls away. It's kinda giving me a complex."

Kurt eyed his best friend critically. "You haven't spoken to her in Na'vi, have you, or tried to impress her with your many impersonations?"

"Well, _maybe_…" He stopped when he caught sight of the expression on Kurt's face. "Okay, fine, you caught me. I've tried both. Oh, and I may have done the whole 'Sam I am' thing at some point, too."

Kurt dropped his face into his hands. "Oh, Sammy, you really don't know a thing about girls, do you?"

"Hey, I know enough," Sam squeaked indignantly. "And, I seem to remember Jeff doing the same kinda stuff before you two started dating, and you loved it."

Kurt smiled wrly. "Yes, well, luckily—for Jeff—I had been harboring a rather large crush on him since seventh grade. Otherwise I doubt I would have found his James Earl Jones impersonation as charming as I did."

Sam huffed. "That was _my _idea, you know."

"Oh, I know. I definitely know," Kurt studied Sam for a minute. "Why don't you let me make you over? It will give me something to do to take my mind off of my dad, and you could definitely use it."

Sam had agreed almost immediately which Kurt knew was due more to his desire to keep Kurt's mind off of his dad's condition than because he wanted a make-over. Still, his answer had the desired response because Kurt spent the rest of the time before the last visitation session of the night huddled together with Blaine making plans.

The next day was spent in a similar fashion.

They returned to the hospital bright and early that morning only to find that Carole was already there. Her continued presence made Kurt more than a little annoyed, if he was being honest, but he dutifully introduced her to both Blaine and Sam before leaving them in the waiting area while he visited his dad.

Visiting his dad was difficult enough as it was but visiting his dad with a practical stranger wasn't an experience he wanted to have again. It wasn't that he didn't like Carol. She seemed like a perfectly lovely woman. The problem was that she kept trying to mother him. Over the course of the weekend, she shot him question after question. Like how was he, and did he need anything and was he sleeping okay and was his school okay with him missing classes? She also seemed particularly bothered by the fact that he had declined her invitation to stay with her and Finn. Kurt was sure she meant well, but he already _had _a mother, and he didn't need another.

He arrived at the room just in time to receive an update on his dad's condition. "Better," the short doctor told him rather reluctantly. "He still has a long way to go, but if he continues to improve at this rate, I can safely say we'll move him out of ICU on Monday morning."

Kurt hadn't felt better in the least even in the face of what was probably good news—or at least as good as they were likely to receive at that juncture—and spent the entirety of the visit staring intently at his dad's heart monitor while holding his hand.

By the time Finn arrived after lunch, Kurt had commandeered a corner of the waiting room and was pouring through copies of _Vogue _with Blaine in search of a look that would fit Sam's specifications – _not too fancy like the stuff you wear _and _something in a neutral color_ – as well as his own – _something other than jeans and a t-shirt_. Next to them, Sam was playing his PSP. Every few minutes Kurt would shove a magazine in his face for him to comment on. After his yay or nay, he would mutter indistinctly about fashion snobs as Kurt threw said magazine into one of three piles—yes, absolutely no, and maybe.

Finn came in and, after talking to his mom for a minute, dropped into a chair next to Sam. "Dude, what's all this?" he said waving his hand at Kurt and Blaine, who were surrounded by fashion magazines and in the midst of a very heated discussion over Marc Jacob's new line.

"I'm letting Kurt help me put together a new look, _within reason_," Sam said, the latter part directed to him. He waved his best friend off dismissively before turning back to his own conversation with Blaine.

From the corner of his eye, Kurt noticed how uncomfortable Finn looked all of a sudden.

"Oh," he said, sounding very confused. "Isn't that a little…" he trailed off when Sam sucked in a harsh breath.

"A little _what_?" Sam's tone was deceptively even, but Kurt, of all people, knew what that meant. Sam was an easy-going guy. Even when he was angry, he didn't shout or scream—unless Kurt was involved. There was no holds barred when it came to Kurt.

If it was possible for Finn to look even more uncomfortable, he somehow managed to do so. "You know—_gay_."

Kurt dropped the magazine he was holding, and it clattered to the floor loudly. Blaine stilled beside him a flash of something passing over his face.

"I think you should go," Sam told him, his voice low, very much aware that they weren't the only people in the waiting area.

Finn frowned. "Why? I just—oh!"

Kurt could almost see the flashlight over his head as he looked at both himself and Blaine. He nearly tripped on himself in his attempt to move away from them and back to his mother.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked him when Finn was seated safely out of ear shot.

Kurt nodded, though his chest felt tight, and he wasn't sure whether or not to be hurt or angry. Kurt knew, intellectually, that people used the word _gay _as slang, as a derogatory piece of slang. He also knew that people were bullied, attacked, and even killed for their sexual orientation. After all, Blaine had transferred to Dalton in order to get away from persecution, and he'd heard some horror stories from other students during his tenure as the secretary for Dalton's GSA.

But there was a big difference in knowing and experiencing it first-hand. Kurt had never experienced it first-hand before. All of the schools he'd ever attended had been private schools with rigorous academics and strict no-tolerance no-bullying policies, something he doubted was a coincidence as his mother had been the one to choose each school.

Blaine squeezed his hand. "It gets easier," he said, but Kurt could hear the lie in his voice.

Sam cleared his throat to get their attention. When they looked at him, they saw the look of determination on his face. "There's not much time left until the next visitation. How about afterward we go to the mall?"

Sam's offer was a testament to just how good of a friend he was. Agreeing to a makeover was one thing, but agreeing to go to the mall was something else altogether. Kurt gave him what he hoped was a bright smile but might be a bit off as he nodded.

Kurt had expected Carole to be the one accompanying him to his father's bedside, so he was surprised, and a little leery, when Finn trailed behind him. They were halfway down the corridor where his dad's room was located when Finn blurted out something so fast and unintelligible that Kurt couldn't even understand what he was saying and had to ask him to repeat it.

Finn took a deep breath. "I don't have a problem with gay dudes. I just… I didn't think Sam was gay. I mean, everyone thinks he's got a thing for Quinn, you know, and he plays football and everything—"

"Let me stop you there," Kurt said, interrupting him, "before you put your rather unnaturally large foot even further into your mouth. Sam isn't gay, but I am. Not that being into sports has any bearing on an individual's sexual orientation," he added as an afterthought.

Finn opened his mouth to speak again but Kurt gave him a look and shook his head a little. "It's really not necessary for us to speak. We're not friends."

The next twenty minutes were probably the most awkward twenty minutes he had lived through, if you ignored his first date with his very first boyfriend, Chance Miles, back when he was fourteen. He had spent the entire first half of the movie trying to work up the courage to hold his hand. When he had managed to finally make his move, he ended up – _accidentally_, of course – grabbing Chance's groin instead. He hadn't been able to look him in the face for a week.

He spent the visit really looking at his dad. He _thought _he might look better but couldn't really be certain that he wasn't imagining it. Afterward, he headed back to the waiting area, his mind full of different options for Sam's new wardrobe.

Sam and Blaine were standing near the entry way when he arrived with all of the magazines stowed away in his bag. They were both making an effort to look anywhere but at the other one which made Kurt wonder exactly what had occurred while he was visiting his father.

"So, the mall?" Sam asked as they walked out of the hospital and made their way to Kurt's Navigator.

Kurt offered Sam one last chance at escape. "You don't have to go with us if you don't want to. I'm a very good judge of fashion as well as sizes. I think I'm more than capable of picking out an outfit that would both suit you and fall within your parameters."

"No!" Sam said quickly, backpedaling when he saw the hurt look on Kurt's face. "It's not that I don't think you could pick out a good outfit because, dude, I've seen the stuff you wear, and you could make anything look good. I just… I really want us all to go. Together. I've really missed all of my friends at Dalton. McKinley is weird and confusing. There are all of these unspoken rules you have to follow."

Kurt let out a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose I can endure one trip with you so long as you promise not to whine."

"Fine, but you have to promise that we won't have a repeat of The Incident."

Kurt glared at him. "I thought we were never going to speak of it again. Plus," he said, sneaking a glance in Blaine's direction. "I'm fairly certain that won't be a problem."

Blaine chuckled. "Are you ever going to tell me happened during The Incident?"

The two friends exchanged horrified looks. "_No!" _

The mall turned out to not be a huge disaster. In fact, as far as shopping trips went, Kurt thought it had been spectacular. Sam hadn't whined at all even though Kurt had dragged him in and out of at least half a dozen stores. Blaine, on the other hand, Blaine had been acting decidedly odd. Where before he always seemed to make it a point to touch him as much as possible, he was now going out of his way to _avoid _touching him. He'd given Sam several questioning looks about their friend's behavior, but Sam had only shrugged as if to say _I have no idea_.

"I think we should go to my house tonight. We can watch a movie on my dad's 55 inch TV," Kurt suggested later that evening. Visiting hours were over now, and all Kurt wanted to do was curl into a ball and sleep forever. In lieu of that, watching movies with his two best friends would do nicely.

"I'm in, but I get to pick the movie," Sam said.

Kurt shrugged, knowing exactly what movie he meant. "That's fine, but the two of you," he gave each boy a pointed look, "are not allowed to perform the movie with the actors. If I'm being forced to watch _Avatar_, I would much rather watch the actual movie instead of your amateurish _Rocky Horror _version of it."

* * *

*Edited on 5/12/11 for mistakes!*


	3. Chapter 3

What He Needs  
_or _  
How Kurt Hummel Finally Learned to Stop Planning His Life and Start Living it

By _Koinaka_

No, you can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
And if you try sometime you find  
You get what you need

- _You Can't Always Get What You Want, _The Rolling Stones

Chapter Three

There are some people who thrive on spontaneity. Kurt was not one of those people. He was a planner. He planned _everything_ – from weekend outfits to outings with Blaine to new set lists and dances for the Warblers. Not only did he plan things, but he planned them well. His inventive nature coupled with his ingenuity ensured that nearly everything he envisioned would come to pass. That was why he had been elected to the council as a junior—something that had not happened, as Wes could tell you, since the 1950s.

When you planned something, you had control over it. You knew when it was going to happen and how it was going to happen. There were no surprises. Surprises, Kurt had discovered, were not good things. Surprises were finding out your mom had cancer. Surprises were finding out that your best friend was moving. Surprises were finding out your dad had had a heart attack. He had never had a single good experience resulting from a surprise. Until now.

It had been nine days since his dad's heart attack and nine days since he had lapsed into a coma. Nine days where Kurt spent the majority of the time sitting around the hospital doing his school work – which Blaine continued to not only deliver via email but return to his various teachers – and waiting for his dad to wake up. Nine days in which nothing had changed.

He expected today to be no different. It was a Saturday which meant that he could expect to see both Carol and Finn at some point that day as well as Blaine, who was supposed to drive down after breakfast, although things between he and Blaine had been awkward since the previous weekend for some completely unknown, to him at least, reason. He had a feeling it had something to do with Sam although both boys denied it.

He ducked into his father's room after greeting the nurse on duty, Nurse Nancy. Out of all of the nurses there, she was his favorite. Not only was she the friendliest to him, but she always explained things to him in ways he could understand. Not that Kurt was not intelligent, because he certainly was, but sometimes the medical jargon and lingo went completely over his head. Don't get him wrong, the ICU nurses had taken wonderful care of his dad, but they had been much too busy for conversations or explanations. Nurse Nancy, however, had made it a point to speak to him whenever she saw him ever since his father had been moved onto her ward six days ago.

"Hey Dad," Kurt said as he sat down in his chair next to the bed.

It might seem silly, but ever since Nurse Nancy had told him that it was likely comatose patients could hear when people spoke to them, he had kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversations with his dad.

At first he just talked about what was going on now, but then he began to tell him about his life at Dalton. He told him all about his classes, his friends, and his extracurricular activities in a detail that he'd never gone into before with his dad. It wasn't they'd never talked before, but they certainly didn't have the sort of conversations he used to have with his mom before she died. Conversations with his dad were more of an exchange of information rather than an actual conversation because they really didn't know one another, not like they should at least. Kurt wanted to rectify that, so he did one of the things he did best: he talked.

He told him all about life as a Warbler: about his position on the council – how he was the youngest member elected to the council since the 1950's and how his friend Thad had had to fight for him to be allowed to run despite his standing as a junior – about his friendly rivalry with Blaine for solos, and about his love-hate relationship with Wes that almost always leaned toward the hate side. He told him about going to Nationals the previous spring: about how the Warblers had loved his choreography so much that they had used it during their final performance, and while he was not so vain as to claim that his choreography was the reason for them placing second in the competition, he was fairly certain that it was one of the main reasons why he had been elected to the council.

He talked about the classes he was taking, the ones that he liked: French, European History, and Pop Culture and the ones that he hated: Physics, Pre-Calculus, and Latin. He told him about how unfair his Physics teacher was, how the man seemed to hate him from the very moment he laid eyes on him the previous year when he taught Kurt's Chemistry class, even though Kurt hadn't said more than a word to him or about him. He told him how much more difficult the IB Diploma program was opposed to the Middle Years program and how he wondered if it was worth the effort it took and the stress it caused.

He told him about all of the extracurricular activities that took up the majority of his free time outside of class.

He told him how his vocal coach always pushed him to perform to the best of the ability and how sometimes – only _sometimes_ – he would rather sing with his vocal coach alone for that one hour a week instead of with the Warblers because he didn't have to worry about picking music that was a cappella friendly. As an afterthought, he confessed to how frightened he was that he one day puberty would come back to rear its ugly head and take away his voice, something he had never told anyone else before.

He told him all about his dance classes—how he liked ballet more than modern dance even though modern dance was more beneficial to him as a singer, how he wondered if he had what it took to one day make it in a professional dance company, how sometimes, if he didn't pay attention to what he was doing, he would find himself moving through the five positions whenever he had to stay in a line.

He told him about how obnoxious his dance partner, Mallory, was and how she blamed him for her inability to perform an adagio when the reality was that she just wasn't good enough and probably would never be. He told him about how he was happy for Adam, his closest friend in his dance class, for getting the role of the Nutcracker in the production of _The Nutcracker_ that his dance school would be putting on that winter, even though they'd both auditioned for it, because it was to be Adam's last performance before he graduated.

He told him all about his position as secretary of Dalton's Gay-Straight Alliance and what it meant to him—how blessed he felt that he had two supportive parents, how relieved he was that he had never had to deal with the type of bullying that sent so many kids to Dalton, how sad the world's ignorance made him, but also how hopeful he felt when he saw the members of the group – which was surprisingly composed primarily of straight students – trying to fight that ignorance head-on. He also went into great detail the number of events and awareness campaigns the GSA helped with.

Finally, he told him about his friends and the fun times they had together. He told him about their late night raids to the kitchens during freshman year and how Kurt had been so worried they would get caught and expelled that Sam and Jeff nicknamed him Hermione. He told him about the time that he and Jeff had dressed up like girls the previous spring and infiltrated their sister school, Crawford Academy, to surprise Jeff's sister on her birthday. He told him about all of the late-night studying groups that turned into early morning video gaming tournaments. He told him about when he had played Truth or Dare with his floor-mates and, on a dare, he had set off the fire alarm which led to his entire dorm receiving two demerits and an entire week of detentions. He also told him that none of the other boys would let him confess which was why the entire dorm was punished instead of only him.

Sometimes though, like today, he didn't talk at all. Instead, he just pulled out a book and read to his dad just like his mom used to do for him whenever he was sick.

He was in the middle of recounting Toad's adventures on the barge when he felt it: a very slight pressure where his hand was connected with his dad's. It was always a little awkward to read with one hand, but Kurt couldn't beat to not be physically to his dad, if for no other reason than to convince himself that his father was still alive. He paused, frozen in midsentence, but when the action was not repeated, he filed it away as some sort of sensory hallucination due to lack of sleep.

The second time it happened, he couldn't ignore it because it was accompanied by a sort of gurgling sound, like his father had tried to cough but hadn't been able to due to the tube being in his throat.

He let out a shriek and leaped out of his chair, his book falling to the floor in the process. He studied his dad's face carefully for any sign of changes. His eyes were still closed, but instead of the smooth expression he had become accustomed to seeing, the corners of his mouth were pulled into the beginnings of a frown.

Kurt reached over and pressed the button that was connected to the nurse's station. Before Nurse Nancy even had a chance to ask him what he needed, he blurted it out. "It's my dad! I think he's waking up!"

While he waited for Nurse Nancy to come to his room, his dad's eyes fluttered open for the briefest of moments before closing once again. They repeated that action several times before Kurt was banished to the waiting area so the doctors would have room to work.

In the waiting room, he whipped out his cell phone and sent out a series of texts: to Blaine, Sam, and Carole in that order.

An hour later, the waiting room was packed. Carol and Finn had shown up with Finn's girlfriend, Rachel, and several other kids that Kurt neither recognized nor knew. Blaine showed up with Jeff and Nick in tow, something that had Kurt smiling and launching himself at Jeff.

He and Jeff had an odd relationship. They had dated for nearly a year before deciding that they were better off as friends. The decision had been mutual on both of their parts, and they were as close now as they had been before. While he wasn't as close to Jeff as he was to Sam, but it was a pretty close thing.

Even though the room was full of people, there was a definite division of groups. Kurt was on one side with Blaine, Jeff, and Nick while the others stayed in one cluster on the other side.

Blaine, who had stopped by Sam's house so Jeff and Nick could say hello, told him that Sam wouldn't be there for another hour or so because he was watching his brother and sister.

"You should have told me you guys were coming!" Kurt told his two friends with mock anger.

Jeff shrugged carelessly. "It was a pretty last minute thing. Blaine told us he was coming after practice so we stowed away in his backseat."

Kurt eyed Jeff first and then Nick. "Literally?"

"Yes," Blaine said, dryly. "I was—"

Jeff cut him off. "He was belting out a wonderfully horrible rendition of Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream" when Nick here," he elbowed the other boy, "couldn't help but laugh and alert him to our presence."

Nick grinned at Blaine before turning to Kurt. "You should have heard him. He let out this high-pitched scream and nearly ran off of the road! It was brilliant."

Blaine was definitely not laughing. "We'll talk about this later," he told them, his voice tight with anger. His face softened when he looked at Kurt. "How long ago did he wake up?"

"Right before I texted you. I was in the middle of reading to him when he squeezed my hand."

"That's wonderful," Blaine said with a smile.

"So, how was practice?" Kurt asked a few minutes later.

The three Warblers grimaced. "Awful. Wes was on the warpath. I hope you come back soon, Kurt, because you're the only one who he'll listen to," Blaine said.

Kurt scoffed. "Come again? Wes doesn't listen to me. At all." He sighed. "What's the problem?"

"The Invitational," they said together.

Kurt sighed again. He'd forgotten all about the invitational. "I'll work on something. Did he give any hint as to what kind of number he thinks we should do?"

"I'll give you _one _hint," Jeff said, "but you won't need it. Let's just say that it's Blaine's _dreamy _idol."

Kurt considered that for a minute, his mind already busy planning. "Hmm. I think it would be doable. When is he going to hold auditions?"

The three boys fidgeted nervously.

"Today. They were today," Blaine said finally.

"Am I to assume that you got the solo?" he asked Blaine, one eyebrow arched.

He nodded. "You aren't angry, are you?"

"Of course not! Your voice is much better suited for Top-40 hits than mine. Plus, I know that you have a girl-crush on Katy. I've _seen _your iPod playlist dedicated to her," Kurt said, elbowing him playfully.

Blaine was visibly relieved. "I'm glad."

"I'll have to take your clumsiness into account, as well as your regretful dance moves…" he trailed off already envisioning the choreography in his head.

"_Hey!_ I'm not clumsy, and I'm an excellent dancer, I'll have you know," Blaine said.

Kurt gave him a pointed look. "You are many things, Blaine Anderson, but an excellent dancer is certainly not one of them."

"Sorry, man, but I have to agree with Kurt. You're pretty awful," Nick said.

Blaine scowled, but before he could retort back. Nurse Nancy stuck her head in the doorway and motioned for Kurt to follow her.

"He's awake, lucid, and asking for you," she said, beaming.

"So I can see him?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, and then you can send Carole in. No one else after that, though. We don't want to overexcite him, and don't take it personally if he falls asleep. He might have spent the last week in a sleeplike state, but he still needs plenty of rest."

"Of course," he murmured, already moving away from her and down the corridor to his dad's room.

Nurse Nancy followed behind him, smiling brightly when she entered the room. "Look who I found hanging out in the waiting room," she sang.

"'ey kid," his dad said, his words a little sluggish. "'t's good to see you."

Guilt curled heavy in his belly. He hesitated for a moment before giving him a one-armed hug. "It's good to see you, too, Dad."

He sat back down in his chair and watched as his dad struggled to keep his eyes opened. He reached over and squeezed his hand. "Get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

He gave Kurt a stilted nod, his eyes already closing once again. Kurt watched him for several minutes before heading back to the waiting room, a small smile on his face. Maybe surprises weren't always a bad thing.

* * *

*Edited on 5/12/11 for mistakes!*


	4. Chapter 4

What He Needs  
_or _  
How Kurt Hummel Finally Learned to Stop Planning His Life and Start Living it

By _Koinaka_

No, you can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
And if you try sometime you find  
You get what you need

- _You Can't Always Get What You Want, _The Rolling Stones

Chapter Four

When Kurt had agreed to have dinner at Carole's house on Saturday night to celebrate his dad waking up, he hadn't realized that it would also mean subjecting himself to an evening with Finn's girlfriend, Rachel.

The evening had started off with Rachel telling him that she "had no problem with him being gay" because she had "two gay dads."

Kurt had eyed both Finn and then Rachel coolly before telling them both that he wasn't aware he required their acceptance.

"And," he added to Finn, "It really is impolite for you to discuss my personal business with your girlfriend, especially when you consider the fact that we are practically strangers."

It had gone downhill from there.

Dinner had been steaks and baked potatoes, and since Carol hadn't known that Kurt was vegan, she'd only cooked enough eggplant for Rachel. That, in and of itself, didn't bother him—he didn't like eggplant anyway—it was Finn's muttered comment of "What kind of guy doesn't like steak?" that bothered him.

There was also the matter of dinner conversation. Rachel spent the majority of the time discussing how she thought her performance of "Papa, Can You Hear Me?" from Yentl had been vastly misunderstood by the other glee club member.

Carol's fond smile suggested to Kurt that this was just par for the course for Rachel. When Rachel paused to take a delicate bite of eggplant, Carol turned to him.

"Your father says you're very musical. Are you in the glee club at your school?" she asked.

To say that Kurt was musical would be a gross understatement. Kurt loved music. He loved singing it, he loved playing it, and he loved composing it, well... attempting to compose. Not only did he love music, but he was talented—in some fields of music more than others because he could practice until his fingers bled and still not be an above average violinist and while his piano playing was certainly above average, he lacked the passion that was needed of a concert pianist. So while he enjoyed playing both the violin and the piano, it was vocals that he excelled at.

"Yes, I am," he said.

This got both Rachel's attention. "Do you get many solos?" she asked.

"Rachel!_" _Finn hissed.

"It's just a question!" she insisted.

Kurt smiled tightly. The number of solos he received had always been a point of contention for him. It wasn't that he was upset that Blaine had gotten a solo—a solo that he probably wouldn't have received even if he _had _been able to audition for it—because, like he had told Blaine several times over the last two days, he knew Blaine's voice was much better suited for the music preferred by the Warblers.

It wasn't the first time someone else had been chosen over Kurt despite his vocal talents, and it wouldn't be the last either. He didn't have a problem with that. What he did have a problem with was the council making decisions without him, with them shooting down his ideas. He used to be willing to simply harmonize in the background, just happy to be included, but lately that had ceased to be the case. He felt unchallenged and bored.

"Some," he admitted finally.

Rachel seemed satisfied by this and plowed onto her next line of questioning. "What is your vocal range?"

This question earned her a lifted brow from Kurt and another hiss from Finn. "Countertenor."

The girl paused, studying him momentarily. "Mezzo-soprano?"

Kurt shook his head slightly. "Soprano."

The slight widening of her eyes was her only reaction before she went back to questioning Kurt. "How did your glee club fare last year in competition?"

Kurt saw Carol and Finn having a silent conversation from the corner of his eye. A moment later, Carol cleared her throat. "Rachel, why don't you help me get dessert ready?"

For a minute, it looked like Rachel might argue with Carol, but in the end, manners won over curiosity because she put a bright smile on her face and followed Carol out of the room, complimenting the woman on dinner as she went.

The two women leaving left Kurt and Finn alone. Well, not _alone_ alone but _alone_ together which was infinitely worse for Kurt than simply being left alone.

"So," Finn said. "You're a soprano, huh?"

There was something in his voice that Kurt couldn't quite place but still made him feel uncomfortable.

Kurt nodded and then added a quiet "yes" aloud. He wasn't normally shy or quiet, far from it in fact, but whenever he was around either Finn or Carol—or the two of them together—Kurt found himself on the defensive. He thought it might have something to do with how comfy both of them seemed to be with his dad. Not that he had seen the three interact on any level, but just from the very few, very brief conversations he had had with Finn about his dad, it was more than apparent that the three of them spent a good deal of time together.

Whatever it was, it made him feel immediately defensive, something that was generally only caused by dealing with Mallory or Wes. Whenever he felt like this, he couldn't help but revert to what Sam and Blaine affectionately referred to as his "Ice Queen" persona—though as he was continually reminding them, he was very much a male—that relied heavily on vast amounts of condescension and sarcasm. He hated to feel that way, hated to _act _that way, but more than anything, he hated whenever he felt the need to which was, if he was being honest, the vast majority of the time since his dad's heart attack.

"You're a dude," Finn said.

Kurt gave him an odd look. "I dislike being called a dude, but yes, I am aware of that."

"But you said that you're a soprano. Like a girl." Finn looked so genuinely confused that Kurt almost felt sorry for him. _Almost_.

"If by '_like a girl_,' you mean that I am a countertenor whose vocal range is that of a soprano which is certainly rare but not unheard of in the world of classical music world then yes. Not that I expect you to be familiar with classical music, but yes."

"You mean classical music like… Beethoven or Mozart? I thought you were a singer."

Kurt sighed and looked longingly towards the door separating the kitchen from the dining area. "I am. I meant classical music such as Verdi or Strauss, or if you're into things that are a bit more modern Britten or even Tippet though I am not as fond of him as I am of Britten."

At that point, Finn looked so thoroughly confused that Kurt felt bad for him. He knew that there was no way that Finn would know any of the names that he had thrown at him which was, to be honest, the point of him throwing them out in the first place.

"Operas," he said. "I meant operas."

"Oh… so something like _Phantom of the Opera_? Rachel's crazy about that one." He paused. "That's the one with the guy with the weird-looking mask, right?"

"Something like that."

Finn was, it turned out, physically incapable of being quiet. "So, have you always been… you know… gay?"

At Kurt's no doubt offended look, he quickly continued. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it—Rachel has two gay dads and I don't have a problem with them—I was just wondering."

Kurt had tried to be polite. He hadn't said a word about Finn's comment on his eating habits, he'd done little more than mock him when he'd compared his singing to that of a girl, which Kurt didn't count seeing as the entire exchange had gone over his head. At this point in the night, however, there was no more patience to deal with Finn's latent homophobia left in Kurt.

"I don't know. Have you always been straight?" he asked crossly.

Finn had nothing to say about that.

Kurt was so thankful to see Rachel and Carol return to the table that he'd eaten the entirety of the piece of somewhat questionable, but completely vegan, Rachel assured him, cake without even hesitating. Then, as soon as was politely possible, he made his goodbyes and headed back to Sam's house.

"How was it?" Sam asked when Kurt walked in his room. Sam and the boys were playing X-Box and had been for some time if the soda cans and junk food paraphernalia surrounding them was any indication.

"Awful," Kurt said. He made his way through the piles of clothes and comic books to Sam's bed scrunching his nose at the mess. "Just…awful. I had to listen to a diatribe by Rachel on how misunderstood she is, and then deal with several fairly homophobic comments from Finn who seems to equate me with a girl."

From his place on the floor, Jeff leered at him. "_Definitely _not a girl and I would know."

Sam, who looked more than a little disgusted, threw a pillow at Jeff's head. "Dude, not cool. I don't want to hear you talk about my brother that way."

"What did he say?" Blaine asked putting the controller down and turning to face him.

Kurt sighed. "Just something about how because I don't eat steak and have the vocal range of a soprano that I am 'like a girl.'"

"Finn is an idiot," Sam said. "Seriously. Last year he thought he got Quinn pregnant in a hot tub without ever actually having sex—through two layers of clothing no less."

Nick stared at Sam, his mouth agape. "What are they teaching at public schools nowadays?"

"Obviously not sex-ed," Jeff chortled. "Not that you need it anyway, huh, Sam?"

Sam mock-glared at Jeff. "Hey Kurt, I know what would make you feel better. Why don't you take Blaine's spot for a few minutes? He's only playing so that our teams would be even."

Jeff's laughter died immediately. "No way! If Kurt plays, we won't stand a chance. We'll be dead men."

"Literally," Nick added helpfully.

Kurt pretended to inspect his nails for a minute before grinning wickedly at Jeff. "You should be proud, Jeff, you taught me everything I know, after all. Before you came along, I was hopeless."

"I didn't expect you to use your knowledge for evil, though! Come on, for God's sake, I was your first love!"

Kurt rolled his eyes at his friend's melodrama. "You were most certainly not my first love. In fact, you were an awful boyfriend."

"_What? _I was a fabulous boyfriend."

Kurt gave him a pointed look, his eyebrow raised.

"I was!"

Kurt just continued to look at him.

"Give me three reasons why you think that I was an awful boyfriend!"

"Fine. One, you brought me chocolate on our first date."

"Everybody loves chocolate!" Jeff interjected loudly. "How was I supposed to know that you were allergic?"

"Two, you gave me yellow carnations on Valentine's Day."

"You what?" Blaine said, laughing. "Yellow carnations, really?"

Jeff shot him a dirty look. "You're the one that gave me the book in the first place. It was a mistake, anyway. I got the meanings for yellow and white mixed up. It could have happened to anyone."

"_Three_," Kurt continued over Blaine's laughter. "The first time we kissed you head-butted me and broke my nose."

"And point to Kurt," Sam crowed. "Now, are we going to play or what?"

Sam wasn't quite so smug when Kurt took Nick's place instead. Still, he was right about one thing. Thoroughly thrashing his friends at first Halo and then, later, at Super Smash Brothers Brawl, had definitely made him feel better. Even if he did have to put up with Jeff's gloating and Sam's whining for the rest of the night.

If life was a movie or even one of those cheesy medical dramas that Jeff couldn't get enough of—how many times can one person watch _Grey's Anatomy?_—his dad would have been instantly the same the moment he woke up. Unfortunately, life wasn't a movie or a cheesy medical drama. It was real life, so while his dad was now awake, he still had a long way to go before he was back to normal, if he ever did go back to normal. At first Kurt hadn't been sure what the doctor had meant when he said that there may be some brain damage. Now, on the other hand, he had a much better idea.

When Kurt arrived at the hospital on Sunday afternoon, after saying goodbye to Blaine and the boys who were heading back to Dalton, he had assumed that his dad would be asleep. He had assumed so because both Nurse Nancy and the doctor, whose name still eluded Kurt, had told him that he would sleep more often than not for the next few days. Instead, he was awake and watching a ballgame with Finn while Carol hovered on the other side of the room.

Kurt said hello to his dad first and then to Carol, thanking her once again for having him over the previous night. He might not like Carol, but since his mother had instilled within him pristine manners, it was an involuntary action. Finally, as almost an afterthought, he greeted Finn.

Carol, thrilled by his thanks, called him a "perfect gentleman" and then went on to scold Finn for his lackluster manners, something Kurt could most assuredly sympathize with her about.

"Hey kid," his dad said, the cadence of his voice was slower than usual and much more deliberate, as if he was tasting each word in his mouth to make sure that it was the proper word before speaking.

Kurt sat down in the only open chair which happened to be beside Finn and studied his dad for a couple of minutes. Slow speech aside, his color looked better than it had before and his eyes seemed much more focused than they had the previous evening, both things that he was sure meant that his recovery was coming along as well as could be expected.

"Carol said you've barely left the hospital since the heart attack. Your teachers okay with you missing so much school?"

Kurt wanted to glower at Carol for talking about his private business with his dad. It really was none of her concern how much school he missed, but he didn't. Instead he smiled and nodded. "They gave me last week off, and I've been keeping up with my work. Mostly thanks to Blaine who's been emailing me the assignments every day and then turning them in for me."

"You goin' back this week?"

Kurt paused, chewing on his lower lip for a minute. It was the one nervous habit he had never been able to break. "I suppose I should," he said finally.

He didn't want to leave his father, but the reality was that ever since the man had woken up, the outside world had begun to make its presence known once again. Wes was texting him at least twice an hour—sometimes more—and Arthur, his voice coach, had already emailed him twice about their lesson on Monday afternoon. Plus, he really didn't want to miss another ballet class. He was the understudy for Adam's part, and it was very important that he learn the dances in case something happened.

So while he really didn't want to go back, at least not right then, he really didn't think he could stay another week, especially since it seemed like his dad was out of the danger zone. He didn't normally come home for the weekend, but he could. It would be a stretch, but he could definitely do it. He would have to. At least until his father was released from the hospital and had a better handle on his health.

"If," he added, "you think that I should. I don't mind staying, and I'm sure that my teachers would understand if I needed more time."

His dad reached over and ruffled Kurt's hair. "Don't worry 'bout me, kid. Doc said I'm doing as good as good can be."

"If you're sure," he said. It wasn't a question though it sounded more like a question than a statement. He continued at his dad's nod, "Then, yes I suppose I will go back tonight."

With that settled, his dad turned back to the game leaving Kurt alone to his thoughts which were, if Kurt was being honest with himself, a bit of a mess. Over the course of the last week, he had begun to feel close to his father in a way he had never felt before. He had shared intimate details of his life with him, details that he had never told anyone else before, and now he seemed to have no recollection of that.

He tried to tell himself that he should give it time—give his dad time—because, after all, the man had just woken up from a _coma_, but then he looked at the easy way his dad seemed to converse with Finn, and a foreign emotion came bubbling up to the surface. Jealousy. He was jealous of Finn. He was jealous that his dad was having a conversation, albeit a fairly stilted conversation full of pauses and stutters, over a stupid football game that Kurt didn't care anything about when he hadn't even attempted to make any sort of conversation with him.

He returned to Dalton feeling decidedly unsettled and off-kilter. Luckily, it appeared that he would have plenty of things to do to keep busy. With their invitational only two weeks away, Wes was merciless. Not only was he planning for them to have their usual rehearsals, but he also wanted them to have rehearsals before school and during lunch in order to learn the dance Kurt had spent the prior week perfecting. Rehearsing during lunch was one thing, but there was no way that Kurt could rehearse before school as well. Wes had been less than pleased when he told him that.

"I can't possibly fit all of these extra rehearsals in with all of my other obligations," he had told him honestly. "Jeff can lead those rehearsals, I know he can. Besides me, he's the best dancer we have."

Kurt's day was tightly compacted as it was with nearly every minute planned from when he woke up at five am to when he went to bed at ten, if he was very lucky—which wasn't often—or more usually midnight because five hours was the absolute least amount of sleep he could get and still function properly. Not to mention the fact that he was trying to find the time now to visit his dad in the hospital!

But Wes was having none of that. "You are the one that insisted on such an intricate dance number. Of course you have to be the one that teaches it!"

"I can coach Jeff through it. It's not a difficult dance, not really, and with the exception of Blaine and David, everyone should be able to pick it up easily. It's not that I don't want to do it, Wes, but there's no way I can fit anything else in."

Wes's lips had settled into a thin line. "The Warblers should be your first priority."

When Kurt had hesitated, Wes had continued, "If you're feeling overloaded, then I'm sure Thad wouldn't mind taking over your spot on the council. He did a wonderful job while you were gone."

A retort had been on the tip of his tongue, but Kurt had bitten it back. Instead, he had taken a deep breath and promised to be there.

He normally used the time before school for ballet practice because it was then that he was most rested. He would just cut his morning practice short. That would have to do. It wasn't as if he would really go on anyway because he was just the understudy. Adam hadn't had so much as a sniffle the entire time they'd known each other, so it wasn't likely that anything would happen between now and then.

By the end of school on Monday afternoon, Kurt was feeling more than a little frazzled. He'd spent half of his lunch break demonstrating the routine for "Teenage Dream" and the other half doing school work while he ate his lunch practically whole. He had had another argument with Wes about rehearsals but had managed to convince him, with the help of Blaine, to have a later rehearsal on Mondays—a day that was usually rehearsal free—because of his vocal lesson. Wes had given in, reluctantly, because he'd known that he hadn't really had a choice.

Arthur gave Kurt a wide smile when he entered the practice room where his vocal lessons were held. "Good to see you this week, Kurt. How is your father doing?"

"Better," Kurt told him. "He's awake, and he seems to be recovering nicely."

"Wonderful. Now, then, shall we get down to business?"

He nodded eagerly.

Arthur pulled a set of sheet music from the case of music he always brought with him and handed it to Kurt. His eyes grew wide when he read the title. It was "Hymn to the Sun" from Phillip Glass's _Akhnaten_. He opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur cut him off with a tiny shake of his head.

"I'm sure you are aware that the deadline to apply to Julliard's Early Admission Program is quickly approaching, so it is imperative that we begin preparing your audition pieces. One has to be either an Italian art song or an aria from before the 18th century. The second has to be an English art song. The third, however, is up for grabs, and I thought that this piece would be perfect for you. If you're interested, that is."

Kurt looked up from the sheet music, a smile spreading across his face. _Akhnaten _held a special place in his heart because it was the first opera he had ever seen. "I am absolutely interested."

"Let's get started then."

He left his lesson in a much better mood than when he arrived except for one thing. He was nearly out the door when Arthur had called him back to tell him that he would see him on Wednesday.

"Wednesday?" he had asked.

"Yes, now that we're preparing your audition repertoire, we'll need to meet at least three times a week in order to be able to dedicate one session per week for each piece."

He had simply nodded because he knew that Arthur was right. He would have to move some things around, but he should be able to juggle the additional rehearsals. Maybe. Probably. He hoped so at least. Talking to Wes wouldn't be fun at all, but there were a lot of things he was willing to do for a chance to perform "Hymn of the Sun" and facing the wrath of Wes was definitely one of them.

He spent the entirety of Warblers' rehearsal that night listening to Wes and David complain about the choreography.

"It's too complex," Wes repeated once again. They had been having that argument for the last half-hour. "Maybe, if we had an additional week, we could pull it off, but I'm just not sure that we can pull off something like this with only two weeks."

"Well, I'm sorry if my dad's heart attack was an inconvenience—" Kurt said hotly.

He felt Blaine's hand on his shoulder. "That isn't what he's saying, Kurt, not at all. It's just… well, you have to admit that it _is_ a bit complex."

"Dancing is the key to beating Vocal Adrenaline!" Kurt insisted, for what felt like the thousandth time that day. "Vocally, we're on the same level, but when it comes to showmanship, they have the upper hand."

"I disagree," David said, stating his opinion for the first time that day. "It wasn't enough to beat them at Nationals, was it?"

"It was enough to take second place!" Jeff said, from his spot next to Nick. Kurt gave him a thankful smile.

"Jeff's right," Thad chimed in. "Vocal Adrenaline are amazing performers. If we want a chance at Nationals this year, we need to step it up."

Several of the other Warblers nodded their agreement. Wes frowned.

"The Warblers have never been about pomp and circumstance in the past. I don't see why we should start now. The council will convene after the meeting to vote on this matter—"

Kurt cut him off once again. "Don't bother. It's obvious how the vote's going to go. Let's not waste any more time pretending that my opinion counts here."

He hadn't said a word for the rest of the rehearsal.

Then, on Tuesday, the unthinkable happened. He was in the junior commons with Blaine cramming for a Physics exam when Isabella, his dance instructor, called.

Isabella Rodriquez had a very Type-A personality which, Kurt thought, was ironic since while she might act like she was ten feet tall, in reality she was less than five feet tall. She also had a general no-nonsense attitude and was not one for meaningless chatter—especially greetings on the phone—which was why Kurt had barely had a chance to say hello before she was speaking.

"Adam broke his leg. Be here tomorrow at 7 pm sharp."

It took Kurt a minute to realize what she said. "_What_?"

There was a deep sigh from the other end of the phone line. When Isabella spoke again, it was in the same tone of voice that you would use if you were talking to a particularly dimwitted child.

"Adam was in a car wreck this morning and broke his femur. You're his understudy, so you'll need to be here tomorrow at 7 pm sharp," she paused before continuing. "Oh, and Kurt, if you feel the need to be as thoughtless as Adam and get yourself injured, make sure you finish the job."

She hung up before ever giving him a chance to respond. Not that he would have, though. Talking back to Isabella Rodriquez wasn't done. Once she had stopped an entire recital to yell at an elderly woman on oxygen for making too much noise when she breathed. She hadn't taken too kindly to the son's intervention, and the ensuing argument ended with the elderly woman being kicked out and the son, a man large enough to be a linebacker, in tears.

The moment he put the phone down, Blaine began to question him. "Is it your dad? Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine with my dad, or at least it was when I spoke to him during lunch. It's Adam. He broke his leg, his femur to be exact."

Blaine winced. "Ouch. That's awful."

"I know. It is. I'll have to send him a card, or maybe a floral arrangement. Or both. It's just awful," he parroted Blaine's words back to him.

And it was. Awful, that is. An injury of that magnitude…well, it was difficult to come back from. Ballet dancers broke toes with some frequency, if they weren't careful. A break in his femur would be a definite set back in his career.

"Then why do you look so happy?" Blaine prompted.

Kurt's face suddenly went slack. He hadn't meant to look happy—had he really looked that way?—because he was being honest before, it was an awful thing to happen, and Adam was his friend. Maybe some people would wish ill-will on their friends in order to further themselves, but Kurt wouldn't.

Only…only…now that the accident had happened, and he had been given the opportunity to perform in Adam's place… he couldn't help but be excited because he had wanted that part from the beginning. Did that make him an awful person? He wasn't sure, but he certainly hoped not.

"I'm not. Happy, that is."

Blaine gave him a disbelieving, and disapproving, look. No one did disapproving quite like Blaine Anderson. Except maybe Sam's mom. She had that look perfected. Although, raising Sam—and himself to a smaller extent—she had definitely needed it.

"I'm Adam's understudy," he explained. "I'm sorry that he was hurt, of course I am, but is it so wrong that I'm happy to get the opportunity to perform?"

Blaine's look softened. "No, of course it isn't."

"Good, now back to Physics because Langston is just looking for an excuse to fail me, I know it."

Blaine nodded and the two friends went back to their studies. It was quiet for several minutes before Blaine spoke again.

"Wait a minute, I don't mean to be a killjoy because you getting the chance to perform in _The Nutcracker _is great and everything, but… Kurt, how are you ever going to fit in all of that rehearsal time in? Wes is already complaining about your vocal lessons and with everything else you have to do—"

"Wes is being completely ridiculous, not to mention unreasonable!" Kurt snapped.

Blaine held out his hands in surrender. "I'll tell you the same thing I told him: I'm Switzerland. Both of you are my friends, and I'm not getting into the middle of this."

Kurt scoffed. "Except that you clearly are getting in the middle of this."

"Out of concern for you!" Blaine said, pushing a hand through his curls in irritation. "I'm just worried about you, Kurt. With your father being sick and everything, maybe it's time to reorganize your priorities—"

There was a loud thud as Kurt closed his Physics book. He pushed himself away from the table with so much force his chair nearly toppled over. He packed his belongings and was out of the commons before Blaine had a chance to react.

He spent the next day avoiding Blaine which, considering the sheer amount of classes and rehearsals they had together, was quite a feat. His words stuck with him though.

_Reorganize your priorities_.

He was in the middle of listening while Wes, David, and Blaine discussed the color of the piping on their ties when he realized that Blaine was right. He needed to reorganize his priorities.

He was tired.

His vocal lesson that day had been wonderful but it had also been demanding. There was still another half-hour of rehearsal to go before Kurt left to drive the hour-long drive to his first official ballet rehearsal as the Nutcracker that night, and while it was something that he was definitely looking forward to, he couldn't help but also think of the pile of homework he had to somehow squeeze in between the time he got out of rehearsal and the time he went to sleep.

"Do you have a preference, Kurt?"

"About?" he asked since he hadn't been paying attention in the least.

"The color of the piping on our ties for the Invitational. We've only been discussing it for the last half-hour!"

Kurt couldn't help but laugh when he noticed that everyone was actually waiting for his answer. The situation was ridiculously absurd.

Blaine's words echoed through his head.

_Reorganize your priorities_.

_Reorganize your priorities. _

_Reorganize your priorities_.

Kurt wasn't sure who was more surprised when he simply got up and walked out of the room—the Warblers or himself.

* * *

*Edited on 5/12/11 for mistakes!*


	5. Chapter 5

What He Needs  
_or _  
How Kurt Hummel Finally Learned to Stop Planning His Life and Start Living it

By _Koinaka_

No, you can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
And if you try sometime you find  
You get what you need

- _You Can't Always Get What You Want, _The Rolling Stones

Chapter Five

Quitting the Warblers caused a chain reaction in Kurt's life.

By the time he left ballet, he had seventeen missed calls and twenty-five text messages. He deleted them without even reading them and turned off his phone—something nearly unheard of for him to do. Most of the texts were from Blaine, though, and since he currently wasn't speaking to Blaine, he figured there was no point in reading them. He didn't have to explain himself to them anyway. The Warblers were a voluntary organization; he had no true obligation to them. The entire point was to have fun, and if he wasn't having fun, there was no reason for him to stay.

When Kurt got back to the dorm, he bypassed the desk where his homework was all laid out ready for him to begin and practically threw himself onto his bed. Practice had been excruciating. And wonderful. Wonderfully excruciating even. Every muscle in his body ached in the best possible way. He wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and fall asleep.

So that's exactly what he did.

The problem was that leaving the Warblers caused him to reevaluate other aspects of his life. He felt a little like he was having some sort of midlife crisis which was completely ridiculous because he was only sixteen—nearly seventeen—and not anywhere near old enough to have some sort of existential crises, but that didn't change the fact that he was.

It started with his uniform. Kurt had always worn uniforms to school—_always_—and he'd never cared before. They had always just been a complete nonentity to him. He still loved fashion and spent the majority of the week planning outfits for the weekend and for the minute he could shed the uniform on week days, but he'd never been bothered about wearing the actual uniform before. Friday was different though. Suddenly, all he could think about were the negative qualities of the uniform and, quite frankly, there were more than a few.

More than the actual aesthetics of the uniform, it was the way the uniform made him feel that was the problem. The tie was too tight against his throat; the material of the pants too itchy against his sensitive skin; the heat of all of the layers—undershirt, button-down oxford in a shade of white that was completely unflattering to his skin tone, sweater vest, and blazer—suffocating, despite the fact that it was October in Ohio which meant that there was already a chill in the air. The physical reactions were nothing compared to the other reactions. He felt caged and restless. He tapped his foot and drummed his fingers all day, as if he couldn't be still for even a moment.

During French, he loosened his tie as far as he could and still follow standard uniform regulations. During lunch, he took off the blazer—completely allowed though not often done—and pushed up the sleeves of his button-down—less advisable because if certain teachers, namely Langston, were around, he would definitely be given a demerit. During Pop Culture, his last class of the day, he fidgeted, wiggling in his seat in an attempt to stop his crawling skin to such an extent that he did get a demerit and was forced to have a "chat" with his teacher, a pushing forty man who preferred to be called Simon instead of Mr. Regionali because he thought that calling him by his first name made them all his friends.

Shedding the uniform the moment he got back to his room, not even stopping to properly hang it up, helped, but it still wasn't enough. He felt better with his own clothing on, more like himself and better able to breath, but it still wasn't _right_.

It was completely frustrating because he wanted to fix this, to make it _right_, but how could he fix something when he wasn't even sure what was wrong in the first place?

All he did know was that he felt like there was this huge weight pressing on his chest—a weight that he hadn't even know was there until he walked out of the Warblers. But know he did know. What he didn't know was how to get rid of it. Taking off the uniform helped some, but it was still there, and now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time it wasn't there. Before his mom got sick? Maybe. Probably.

The last time that stood out in his mind was the Spring Break trip to New York City that he took with his mom the spring before she got sick. She had picked him up on Friday afternoon from Dalton with their bags already packed. They had been on the road for nearly an hour before she had finally broken down to tell him where they were going.

They had spent the entire week in New York City. They went to museums, shopped, saw a musical every night they were there—and a couple of times during the day as well—and did all of the touristy things that people did in the city. They ordered room service and watched pay-per-view movies in their pajamas, went on carriage rides, and visited every location that Kurt could remember from every movie he had seen that had taken place in New York City. It had been the trip of a lifetime. Sometimes he wondered if she had known that she was sick then. Thinking back on it, it seemed likely.

Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere but there, sitting in his dorm room staring at the same pile of homework from the night before. He had expected all of his teachers to reprimand him, but they hadn't. Apparently his father being sick gave him a bit of leeway, so now not only did he have to complete today's homework, but he had to do that homework as well. He didn't have any idea of when he would squeeze it in. His father was being released from the hospital in the morning, so he would probably spend the weekend making sure he got settled in at home and just spending time with him. He still had a bit of time before his vocal lesson. If he started now, he could work through at least the French translation before time to go, but the very thought of opening a book made him feel nauseous. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and headed outside.

He walked aimlessly for a few minutes before sitting down on one of the benches spread across campus. Outside, the weight felt lighter, but it was still there. He watched as a couple of boys near him roughhoused over a football, laughing and playing in the sunlight.

When was the last time Kurt had done that? When was the last time he had spent the afternoon with his friends just hanging out? He had hung out plenty with Sam and Blaine and even Jeff and Nick while his dad was in the coma and afterwards, but now that he thought about it, he couldn't think of the last time he had done that before then. It wasn't that he didn't spend time with his friends because he did, but most of the time it was because one of the boys Kurtnapped him—their words, not his—to ensure that he would go along with whatever shenanigans they had planned. The other times were always highly planned endeavors.

They had to be highly planned in order to work around the other things he had in his life—lessons and classes and homework and clubs took up a lot of his time and the preparation for those things took up the rest of the time. He didn't come home for weekends normally because he needed that time to catch up on his sleep and homework, to work on new fundraising ideas for the GSA, to come up with new numbers for the Warblers to do. The list was never ending, and sure, cutting out the Warblers freed up a lot of his time, but soon SAT prep would take over that time. Then it would be the same thing all over again.

Kurt didn't even notice Blaine approaching until he sat down next to him on the bench. Neither one of them said anything for a long while.

It was Kurt who finally broke the silence. "Are you happy?" At Blaine's confused look, Kurt clarified. "Are you happy here at Dalton?"

Blaine's eyebrows drew together in concentration. He considered the question for a few minutes. "Yes, I am," he said. "Things at my old school weren't as terrible as they might have been, but they were still pretty bad. I don't have to worry about that here. Here I am accepted. I have friends. I can be myself. Sometimes I wish things could have been different. I wonder if I had tried hard enough, been different—better somehow—would I have had to run here, but the truth is that even if I had tried harder to get along with people none of those things would have been possible at my old school. So, yes, I'm happy here."

Kurt nodded absently, still watching the group of boys across the courtyard. From beside him, he could feel the weight of Blaine's gaze on him.

"Are _you _happy at Dalton?" Blaine asked. There was an odd tone to his voice that Kurt couldn't place, some double meaning to his question that Kurt's already overly full mind couldn't quite work out.

That's when it hit him, what was wrong, why nothing felt _right_. He wasn't happy. Genuinely happy. There were things that made him happy, yes, ballet and vocal lessons, certainly, and his friends, but it was all so fleeting and centered around actual events. He was happy for minutes, hours, but he wanted more than that.

There were some people—people like his mom and Sam, for instance—who were just happy people. They woke up in the morning with a smile on their face and went to bed with one as well. He wasn't. Not now, anyway. He used to be happy. He could remember weeks and months at a time when he was happy, genuinely happy. When _he _would wake up with a smile on his face and go to bed with a smile on his face. When had that changed? When he came to Dalton? When his mom got sick? When she… but he couldn't even think of that because if he thought of it—if he even _started _to think of it—he wasn't sure he could stop.

"No," Kurt finally replied. "I don't think I am."

When he looked up, Blaine looked stricken. He took a couple of deep breaths and cleared his mind. Then, he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the tightening of his chest that started when he saw Blaine's inexplicable expression. "Look, I have to go. We'll talk when I get back on Sunday, okay?"

He paused when he'd taken several steps and looked back at Blaine. He felt like he should say something, but he wasn't sure what, so he just put one foot in front of the other and walked away.

Friday's vocal lesson was every bit as demanding as the one before. He began by singing—or attempting to sing—through "Hymn of the Sun" before beginning the process of choosing the other two songs for his audition repertoire. He spent the entire time floundering between two arias—one being an aria from Purcell's _The Fairy-Queene_, which he liked on the sheer principle of the opera being based on his favorite play, _A Midsummer Night's Dream,_ and the other being "Delizie Contenti" from _Giasone_, which he must admit that he was rather uncomfortable singing. His discomfort was largely due to the fact that it was, basically, Giasone singing about how happy he was about pleasure…of the sexual sort, something Kurt was blissfully unaware of. For the most part. He was aware of how uncomfortable talking about it made him, anyway, and he definitely had his doubts on whether or not he would be able to effectively sing about it.

Still, Arthur was insistent about his choosing that particular song.

"You need to showcase your foreign language abilities," he had told him. "Since your other two selections will be in English, it is important for you to have one selection that is not. How about we just try it out for today, hmm? If it isn't a good fit for you, then we will absolutely find another song. The entire point of this is to find songs that will flatter your voice, Kurt, which I think "Delizie Contenti" will do nicely, but if you don't like it, I won't push the matter. All I ask is that you do at least try it today."

Flushing hotly, Kurt had nodded.

When Arthur noticed his blush, he had winked and then proceeded to tell him a lie. "I don't understand a word of Italian, you know, so there's really no need for you to be embarrassed."

Not only was it a lie, but it was a completely shameless lie because Kurt knew that although he had been born and raised in America, both of his parents were Italian, and he had attended a conservatory inItaly. So, the old man was shameless, but at least his words did have the intended effect of calming him down. Kurt's own knowledge of Italian being precursory at best also helped.

They had run through both songs once, and by the time practice was over, Kurt had to admit that while he enjoyed both—and, not that he was vain or anything, sounded wonderful on both—the tone of his voice was more suited for "Delizie Contenti." That was, of course, ignoring the fact that the role of Giasone was originally casted with a castrato in mind.

He listened to the soundtrack of _Giasone_ on the way back to Lima, and though he was scarcely halfway through the soundtrack when he pulled into the McKinley High parking lot to wait for the football game to end, he knew that it was the song for him.

The plan had been to just meet Sam at his house after the game was over, but Sam had sent him a text this afternoon asking if he could pick him up instead. After finding a parking spot, which had been a feat unto itself, he shot a text off to Sam telling him where he was parked—practically across town since the stadium was packed—and turned the cd back to "Delizie Contenti." He knew it might be a while before Sam came out, so he listened to the track several times, and then began to sing along with it, his eyes closed as he did so. A tap at his window caused his eyes to pop open and him to fumble with his volume control on his stereo.

Sam was standing on the passenger side of the Navigator with another boy—a _very_ attractive boy—in tow. Kurt's eyes flitted over to where the boy stood near Sam's elbow. He popped the lock and waited for an explanation. He didn't have to wait long.

"Dude, it's a total mad house out there. You mind giving my friend a ride home? I forgot that I told him I would before my mom decided to take the car tonight," Sam said when he opened the door.

Sam wasn't kidding when he said it was a mad house. It looked like the entire contents of the stadium had reached their cars at the same time. The resulting chaos wasn't pretty.

"It's fine, though it doesn't look like we'll be going anywhere for a while." He ejected the CD and turned his iPod on to the playlist of Sam-acceptable music as the two boys piled into the Navigator and got situated. "Just tell me your address, and I'll program it into my GPS. I'm awful at directions."

"Thanks," the boy muttered after he gave him the address, his fingers flying across his cell phone the entire time.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" Kurt asked Sam with a raised brow. He wasn't looking at Sam, though. His eyes were glued onto the rear view mirror, at the unnamed boy—at his thick eyelashes and his olive complexion, at the curve of his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw.

"Oh yeah," he laughed. "Kurt, this is Puck. We're in glee and football together."

"Puck? As in _A Midsummer Night's Dream'_s Puck?"

The boy, Puck, looked up from his texting, a confused look on his face. "A Midsummer Night's what? That a movie or something?"

"No…well, yes, there _is _a movie, quite a few actually, but it's a play. Shakespeare, you know."

Puck shrugged. "Never heard of it."

"_Lord, what fools these mortals be?_" Kurt asked. The other boy shrugged again, so he continued. "Or how about, _Cupid is a knavish lad / Thus to make poor females mad_?"

"Look, I said I've never heard of it, alright? I'm not into that Shakespeare crap. I mean, I'm pretty sure that I read one or two of those Sparknote things for English before, but it's not like I'm some lame-o loser that sits around reading or something," Puck snapped, never taking his eyes off of his phone screen.

Kurt fell silent at once, his eyes narrowed. He might be attractive—okay, no might be about it—but there was no excuse for being rude to someone you barely knew. Especially when the other person was just trying to make conversation with you. Not to mention the fact that he was doing you a favor. Luckily, for him, Kurt had manners.

"I forgot about your obsession with that play," Sam said in an attempt to ease some of the tension. "How many times have you read it anyway?"

"A couple of times. Not that many. Probably not even as many times as you've watched _Avatar_ even. And I'm not obsessed." Of course, Kurt wasn't counting the times his mom had read it to him. _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ had been another of their special things, like _The Sound of Music_.

"_Dude_, you and Jeff dressed up as Oberon and Titania for Halloween last year," he pointed out.

Kurt grinned at the memory. Last Halloween had been fun. Blaine had dressed up as the mischievous Puck, but he hadn't quite pulled it off. Still… "Yes, Jeff was a lovely Titania, wasn't he? Remind me, how much did you end up owing him again for dressing up like Titania when _you _chickened out?"

Sam scowled. "Two hundred."

"So, how was the game? Did you win?" he asked after a couple seconds of silence.

Both boys grimaced. "No."

"How about you?" Sam asked. "I've hardly talked to you all week. Did Wes like the dance thing that you did?"

Now, it was Kurt's turn to grimace. "If by like you mean completely shot down—which, by the way, was an incredibly, incredibly stupid thing to do—then yes, he liked it."

"Why would he shoot it down? I mean, I know pretty much nothing about dancing, but what you told me about your plans last week sounded pretty good. To me, at least."

"'_The Warblers have never been about pomp and circumstance in the past. I don't see why we should start now,'_" Kurt said in a near-perfect imitation of Wes. "Which is completely fine…if they feel like handing Vocal Adrenaline another National Championship."

From the rearview mirror, he saw Puck's head cock to the side, obviously listening to the conversation now whereas before he had been staring intently at his phone.

"Wes is a dick," Sam said. "I mean, I hardly know the guy, and I know that much."

"Eloquent as ever, but yes, I have to admit. He is a dick. The whole thing is just completely ridiculous. Vocally, they stand a better chance at beating them this year since Jesse graduated—"

"Hold up," Puck said, interrupting him. "You know St. Sucks A Lot?"

"Jesse? A little. Lima's not exactly a booming metropolis, and there's only one dance studio that's actually worth attending, so we were bound to run into one another at some point. We were both in the production of _Peter Pan_ that our ballet studio put on three summers ago, but we weren't friends or anything because I'm pretty sure that there is a dark void where his soul should be."

Puck chortled at that. "Dude's totally a soulless automon."

"Automaton," Kurt corrected, earning a scowl from the boy in question, "but yes, he is."

A tense silence fell over the car after that.

"I feel like I should warn you about my mom," Sam said when they were finally able to pull out of the parking lot. "I told her your dad was coming home in the morning, and she's practically been cooking ever since. The way I figure it, your dad won't have to cook for, like, weeks. She made that weird noodle thing that I know you like even though you complain about how much fat it has it in, too."

Kurt made an appreciative noise. His mom's vegan Mac and (I can't believe it's not) Cheese was _amazing_, and worth every single calorie it contained. "Well, I won't complain about that tonight. I'm completely starved. It's been an awful week."

"About that," Sam said, turning to face him. "You going to tell me why Blaine's been blowing up my phone with frantic text messages the last couple of days?"

"Well," he said slowly. "We're not exactly talking right now because he took Wes's side in the whole dance fiasco. _And _he said I didn't have my priorities straight because I thought that it was ridiculous that Wes wanted us to practice _three times a day_ for our upcoming invitational in case someone from Vocal Adrenaline just happens to show up."

"_Three times a day_?" said Puck, incredulously, from the backseat. "Dude, that's some hardcore shit. Worse than Rachel."

"It is," Kurt agreed. He didn't know Rachel very well, but he had a feeling that she and Wes would get along swimmingly. "But that's probably not why he's been texting you."

"You're right. He never mentioned any of that. He just kept saying I needed to talk some sense into you because you were making a huge mistake, but he never really said what mistake you were making."

Kurt chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds. "I quit the Warblers."

"Wait, _what_?"

"I quit the Warblers," he repeated and took a deep breath before adding, "And I think I want to quit Dalton, too."

Sam's mouth fell open in shock.

Spending time with Sam, it turned out, was exactly what he needed. They spent the entire night gorging on food and playing video games—Call of Duty first, but after about half an hour of Kurt trouncing him, they switched to Super Smash Brothers Brawl which Kurt wasn't as good at, but actually liked playing better. Kurt also spent the night trying, and failing spectacularly, not to think any more about "Puck," whose real name, he learned, was Noah Puckerman. That was easier to do after he Sam told him some more things about him.

"He's a cool dude," Sam had said. "But he's kind of a manwhore. He got Quinn pregnant last year, and the talk around glee is that he's pretty much slept with every middle-age mom in Lima. Well, the ones in Lima with pools anyway. Still, he's pretty cool. He plays guitar, and he has this awesome theory about how Super Mario Brothers changed civilization that I think you would completely agree with."

"Well," Kurt said. "Maybe not _civilization_, but video games certainly. I mean, have you _seen _the kind of games they had before that? Just… _no_."

It had gotten a lot easier not to think of him after that because cute or not, Kurt had made it a rule to never crush on straight boys.

By the time he left Sam's house the next morning, he was feeling better—and worse— about the whole Warbler/Dalton situation. Better because he had figured out that that was what he really wanted to do, but worse because he wasn't sure if he could just leave Dalton. It's not like they had a huge drawn out conversation about how he felt or anything because that wasn't exactly Sam's area of expertise or his cup of tea—that was more Blaine's thing—but what little conversation they had had about what he should do had been more than helpful.

"You should do whatever makes you happy."

"But what if my—"

Sam cut him off. "Dude, if they—your dad or even your grandfather—don't support your decision? Screw them. It's your life, y'know? You should be happy, and if you're not happy at Dalton, then you should definitely leave."

And that, as Sam was fond of saying, was that.

Only that wasn't really that. He wished it was, wished it could be as _easy _as Sam made it seem, but it's not. Not when Kurt still had to talk to his dad and his grandfather about everything. The truth was that Kurt hadn't really even thought about leaving Dalton until the words flew out of his mouth the previous night. But now that he had said it… it was all he could think about.

He thought about how it would be to actually _live _with his dad as opposed to just staying with him for a couple of weeks in between school vacations. He was surprised to discover that he might actually want that. He never had before. He had always been perfectly content with things the way they were, even when he got old enough to be actively involved in his own custody arrangement, but now he wanted that. He wanted him and his dad to be a family, like he and his mom used to be.

He thought about how it would be wearing his own clothes to school, something he had never been able to do. He thought about there being an actual separation in his life for school and for everything else, unlike now where it all blended together and there was hardly any time he wasn't either at school or doing school related activities. He thought about how it would be to attend classes that didn't involve copious amounts of study time in order to keep ahead. Even Sam, whose dyslexia had always made things difficult for him academically, seemed to be thriving at McKinley.

He wanted that. He wanted all of that.

The problem was how to get it. He knew that his dad would probably go along with whatever Kurt wanted. He never seemed to think much of Kurt going to Dalton anyway. One part was the financial aspect of it—Dalton wasn't cheap by any means—and another part was him being so far away. After his mom had died, he had even tried to pull him out, citing financial difficulties as the reason for him doing so. After all, with his mom gone, it was up to him to pay for all of the fees—the tuition, the room and board, books—alone.

His grandfather, his mom's father, would not hear of it. He had simply talked to the Headmaster, which considering the fact that they were old friends wasn't very difficult, and paid the tuition himself. He was already paying for Kurt's private lessons, and Kurt suspected that he was paying for quite a bit of his mother's portion of his tuition because even though she worked, he didn't think her salary from the art gallery she had opened was enough to cover everything.

Kurt hadn't ever thought about it before his dad had mentioned him transferring because of the money. He'd never _had_ to think about it. His grandparents were wealthy. He wasn't sure exactly how wealthy they were, to be honest, because he had been taught when he was young by his grandmother that it wasn't the sort of thing you talked about in polite society, which he was happy about because he didn't like talking about it. He just knew that they were wealthy and that he was wealthy—well, sort of—by default because his mom had been their only child and _he _was _her _only child. He knew he had a credit card that was connected to his trust fund and that there was a limit on how much he could spend in a month. Of course, since he'd never actually met that limit, he'd never had to worry about it. He knew that when his mom had died that he'd had to sign so much paperwork, most of which he hadn't even understood. But he wasn't alone in that. Not at Dalton anyway, pretty much _everyone_ had wealthy parents and trust funds, and nobody talked about it—ever.

His dad talked about it though. Not only did he talk about it, but he had always had a huge problem with it, the money and the way his grandfather did things—Kurt had heard him refer to his grandfather as "heavy-handed" once—and the part that his grandfather played in Kurt's life.

Kurt didn't think his grandfather was heavy-handed. He just wanted the best for him and thought he knew what that was. Not that Kurt was really complaining because he loved his grandfather. It was his grandfather that had introduced Kurt to opera when he ten. Most kids wouldn't have cared anything about opera, but had loved it almost immediately. It was also because of his grandfather that he had some of the opportunities that he had, like his lessons with Arthur who happened to be an old friend of his.

He sometimes thought that all of this money stuff may have even been the reason that his parents divorced in the first place. He wasn't sure though because he didn't think that they would have married in the first place if the money had really been a problem. He couldn't remember them fighting about it as he was growing up anyway. He _could_, however, remember his mom and grandparents fighting about it. They had fought about it a lot, and now his dad and his grandfather fought about it, too, at least they did whenever they had a chance.

They had certainly fought when his grandfather had bought him the Navigator the previous summer after he turned sixteen. His dad had wanted to return it, but when his grandfather had pointed out the logistics of Kurt being away at a boarding school where he would need transportation to his private lessons, he hadn't been able to think of another solution other than Kurt scaling back his lessons which hadn't been a solution at all.

His dad hadn't ever said anything negative to _him _about all of it, but he did things like have Kurt answer the phone in his shop when he was home for the summer and do chores around the house. Once he had told Kurt that he wanted him to understand the value of the dollar and an honest day's work.

It was going to be a mess.

Kurt thought about it—all of it—all day long. He thought about it while he was making sure the house was clean—it was—that there was room in the refrigerator and freezer for the casseroles and dishes that Molly had sent home with him—there was—he thought about it when he drove to the hospital, while they went through the lengthy process of checking his dad out and loading him in the car. He thought about it while he flitted around the house trying to get his dad settled into the living room. He thought about it while he made lunch.

All day long his dad had been giving him odd looks, like he was trying to figure Kurt out, but since that was generally how he looked at him, Kurt didn't think anything about it. Finally, after lunch, his dad cornered him in the kitchen. Perhaps cornered was being a bit overly dramatic because the man wasn't exactly at top speed, so Kurt was pretty sure that he could avoid the conversation if he wanted to. Only he didn't want to, not really anyway.

"Alright, so here's the deal, kid," his dad started off. "I want to know what has you all worked up, so just sit still a minute and tell me. You haven't sat for more than five minutes all day."

Kurt was quiet for a minute. Even after all of the thinking he had been doing, he hadn't been able to think of a way to solve his problem. And he was just so _tired _of thinking, so tired of worrying about all of it.

"It's school," he said. "It's not…_I'm _not…" he took a deep breath and tried again. "I don't want to go back to Dalton. I want to transfer. To McKinley."

His dad didn't say anything for a minute or two. "Is that what you really want? You know that McKinley won't be the same, right? It doesn't have that IB thing you were so gung-ho about before, and it doesn't have half of those smart classes you like taking. Or your Garglers."

Kurt chewed on his bottom lip. He did know. Mostly, anyway. Sam had told him the biggest differences he found between the two schools the night before. "Warblers, Dad, and I know. I don't care about them, though, because even if I stayed there, I wouldn't be a Warbler. I'm not happy there, at Dalton. It's just…" he paused, looking for the right word. "It's too much, and I don't want to do it all. Not anymore."

"You sure about that? A hundred percent positive that's what you want?"

"I am. I want to live here. With you. I want us to be a family."

"Then, that's enough for me. We'll go pick up your stuff and start the paperwork on Monday."

"What about—" Kurt hadn't even said his name before he was silenced with a look.

His dad looked positively fierce in that moment. "You let me worry about him. _You _just concentrate on doing whatever it takes to make you happy."

Stunned, Kurt just nodded.

"Why don't you go down and see if there's anything you want to change in the basement? You've never lived here during the school year before, so you'll need to make sure you got room for a desk and those practice bars of yours. We can even see about installing some of those bars and mirrors like your studio has later."

Even as tired as his dad must be and as sick as he had been, Kurt had never seen him look so happy before. That was when he knew that he had made the right decision.

* * *

*Edited on 5/12/11 for mistakes!*


	6. Chapter 6

What He Needs  
_or _  
How Kurt Hummel Finally Learned to Stop Planning His Life and Start Living it

By _Koinaka_

No, you can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
And if you try sometime you find  
You get what you need

- _You Can't Always Get What You Want, _The Rolling Stones

Chapter Six

Kurt thought he would feel better after the decision to transfer had been made, but he did not.

If anything, he felt like his life was spinning further out of his control. Before, at least, he had known what was going to happen—what his life was going to be like—however overwhelming it might have been. Now, though, he had _no _idea what his future held, and that was a very scary thing.

On Sunday, Kurt woke up at his usual time, but instead of getting up and getting his day started; he just laid there for several minutes staring at the ceiling. Normally, he never allowed himself to stay in bed, to wake up slowly. The moment he opened his eyes, he would spring out of bed, his mind already whirling with what he was going to do that day, but today, for once, he didn't have anything to do. There was no pressing homework to finish, or papers to write or tests to study for. No Wes or David texting him every half-hour. No club meetings to go to or lessons to attend. He could stay in that bed for as long as he wanted.

The freedom he felt then was both heady and terrifying.

Heady because he had felt so overwhelmed the last few weeks, with his father's heart attack and ensuing coma, and then the elevating pressures from the Warblers and his classes, that the idea of doing nothing was _amazing_.

Terrifying because he wasn't sure he even knew _how _to do nothing.

After another half an hour of trying to do and think about absolutely nothing, Kurt dragged himself out of bed. He pulled on a pair of tights and his ballet slippers and began his barre stretches using the portable barre he had brought with him from Dalton.

This was how he generally started his day, but unlike generally—where it was more perfunctory than anything—Kurt concentrated fully as he went through first the stretches, then the barre exercises, before finally beginning the center exercises. The center exercises were the portion he most often skipped because there just wasn't enough space in his dorm room for him to perform all of the moves adequately. By the time he was finished, he felt better—calmer.

He went through an extended version of his morning routine not caring that he stayed under the water until it ran cold because there was no one to complain about him stealing all of the hot water. His daily skincare regime was not something he normally skimped on, so there was no change there. After dressing, he headed up the stairs to make breakfast. His dad had told him the previous day about some of his eating habits while complaining about his new diet, and let's just say that after learning just what his dad ate on a daily basis, the only thing he was surprised about was that it had taken this long for his bad habits to catch up to him. That was going to change now that Kurt was around.

He was just putting the finishing touches on breakfast—blackberry quinoa topped with roasted pecans and drizzled with agave nectar—when his dad shuffled into the kitchen half an hour later.

"You're up awfully early," he commented as he sat down at the kitchen table where Kurt had already placed the paper that he'd brought in from the front stoop.

Kurt just shrugged and carried one of the bowls of quinoa over to his dad. "I'm used to getting up early."

"What is this anyway?" he asked, giving the contents of the bowl a dubious look.

"Blackberry quinoa."

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"It's a type of grain. Like oatmeal. Only better for you."

His dad eyed the bowl a little longer before finally taking the smallest of bites. "Hey, this isn't half bad," he said in an almost accusing tone.

"Eating healthy doesn't have to mean you can't enjoy your food, you know," Kurt pointed out. "You'll see."

"Kid, after what they fed me at the hospital? _Anything _is an improvement," he paused and added quickly. "So long as you don't try to feed me any of that tofu stuff, I don't mind trying new things."

"Agreed."

After breakfast, his dad mumbled about a football game before shuffling into the living room, leaving Kurt sitting alone at the kitchen table.

He spent the rest of the morning taking inventory of his room and getting it ready for him to live in full-time.

Because he was so rarely there during the school year, it had become a sort of catch all for everything he really didn't need or want, but had never bothered to get rid of—clothes that didn't fit anymore, spare bits of sheet music, multiple pairs of ballet slippers that had seen much better days, several back issues of _Vogue _in both French and Italian. He meticulously separated everything into three piles—one for trash, one for things to list on eBay, and the last for things to keep—while singing through "Hymn of the Sun" and "Delizie Contente."

He also marked off an area of the room so that he could have a set of mirrors and a barre installed and another area for the desk that he had ordered online. He even made sure there was room for his musical things—his instruments, his stands, and a bookshelf for his sheet music and CD's.

After Kurt had done everything he could think of to do in the basement, including research possible English art song choices for his next vocal lesson, he went back upstairs. He bypassed the living room where he could hear his dad watching some sort of ballgame and headed to where his old piano was. It wasn't a particularly nice piano—definitely not as nice as the one he had at his grandparents' house—but his dad had bought it for him as a surprise before he came home the previous summer. He was surprised to discover that not only was it relatively dust-free, but it was still perfectly in tune. His dad must have been taking care of it even though he had been at school.

He sat motionlessly for several minutes on the uncomfortable piano bench just staring at the keys and trying to decide what to play.

How long had it been since he had just played something because he had wanted to? Since he had just _sung_ for no other reason than because he was moved to do so?

His mom had played the piano exquisitely. She could play pieces that would make Kurt's head spin. He could remember watching as her fingers flew across the keys for hours at a time and wondering how her fingers could possibly move that fast.

When he got older, the two of them would squeeze onto the bench and play and sing together. His mom had a thing for The Beatles, so they must have played their way through their entire discography at one point or another.

Kurt hadn't listened to them since her funeral.

Hesitantly, he moved his fingers along the keys, tapping one here and there as he went.

There was one particular song that his mom used to sing to him whenever he was feeling upset or stressed—even when he got older—that never failed to make him feel better. Before her funeral, he had listened to it on repeat for hours. It had been a slap in the face when he heard that same song playing through the speakers at the funeral home even though he had _known_ it would be playing. After the funeral, he had deleted all of their songs off of his iTunes and iPod—all except that one song. He never played it, but just knowing it was there was enough.

Sometimes though… sometimes, if it had been a particularly bad day, he would catch himself humming the melody.

He took a deep breath and played the opening notes. When he started singing, though, it was not his voice that he heard but his mom's soft voice singing,

"_When I find myself in times of trouble, _

_Mother Mary comes to me_

_Speaking words of wisdom, let it be."_

He played through the entire song, and when it was over, he played it again. He wasn't sure how many times he played it, or how many times he _would _have played it if his dad hadn't come over and put his hand on his shoulder.

Neither of them said anything for a long time. When his dad spoke, his voice was gruff. "You sound good. Real good."

"Thanks."

His dad hesitated for a minute. "I may not really get those songs you sing during your recitals or any of your dance stuff, but I'm proud of you, Kurt. How about some dinner? You hungry?"

Kurt nodded. He wiped the tears off of his face and stood up to follow his dad. His legs were stiff, his butt was numb, and his throat was raw, but he had never felt better.

The next morning, Kurt dropped his dad off at the administration building before sending Blaine a text asking him to meet him at his dorm. He had been dodging his texts and calls all weekend long because he hadn't wanted to tell him over the phone that he was leaving but didn't know how _not _to tell him the minute he heard his voice.

Blaine wasn't surprised at all by his news, in fact, he seemed to have expected it, but he did give Kurt a warning.

"You've never been to a public school before. Zero tolerance bullying policies are the exception, Kurt, not the norm, and kids can be cruel. I just want you to be very sure that you know what you're getting yourself into."

"I know," Kurt said. And he did. Well, to a certain extent. He might not have ever experienced bullying first hand, but he did know it went on. He wasn't so naïve as to believe otherwise.

Blaine's smile was sad. "I don't think you do, not _really _anyway. That kind of hatred, it whittles away at you, Kurt. It changes you. You are the most effervescent person I have ever met. I don't want you to lose that."

There was a part of him that knew Blaine was right, but there was another part of him—a larger part—that also knew that this was what his mom had told him about. She had said that life would be—_should _be—scary and unpredictable. She would have wanted him to take risks—to get out of his comfort zone and _live_—even if it was scary, even if it was messy, even if it was hard.

Kurt stared at their joined hands for a minute before speaking. "I didn't even know I was unhappy, Blaine—who doesn't know that?—but I think that I might have a real chance at happiness there. It might not be easy—it probably _won't _be easy—but I think it's something I have to do, you know?"

"Well," Blaine said after a lengthy silence. "Have you decided what you're going to wear on your first day at McKinley? First impressions are really important."

Kurt just stared at him, horrorstruck, because he hadn't even begun to think about what he was going to wear yet.

Blaine laughed and pulled him towards his closet. "Come on, I'll help you decide while we start packing you up."

"Wait, don't you have class?"

He shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "I'm skipping. What can I say—you're a terrible influence on me. Now, come on, dummy. To start off with, I'm thinking you should wear definitely wear your new Salvatore Ferragamo boots."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Getting admitted to McKinley turned out to be ridiculously easy. That was mostly because there was hardly any paperwork to fill out—just the standard forms and a proof of residency was needed, unlike Dalton's slew of paperwork. In fact, while it had taken nearly an hour to process his withdrawal from Dalton, it took only half an hour to get him admitted to McKinley.

Actually registering for classes on the other hand? Not quite so easy.

The problem was that they just didn't know where to put him. The guidance counselor, Miss Pillsbury, had been suitably impressed by his academic records, but the truth of the matter was that they offered nothing even close to the level of his previous classes. They had a handful of AP classes—Physics, U.S. History, Calculus, and English—but that was it. Dalton's graduation requirements had also been much more strenuous which meant that he already was far ahead of his new classmates.

"The work won't be nearly as challenging as you're used to," she told him when he handed her his final choices, which consisted of Physics, French III, Pre-cal, English, Art, and a study hall.

"That's fine," he said. "I don't mind."

In the end, he walked out of her office with some pamphlets on adjusting to a new school, a pristine print out of his new schedule, and a locker assignment.

And just like that, Kurt was officially a student at William McKinley High School.

That evening when he got home from ballet practice, he found his dad sitting with Finn in the living room while Carole cooked dinner. He wasn't sure why it surprised him so much—he knew they were dating after all, and they hadn't been by since he had been discharged from the hospital—but it did.

"Hey kid. Good practice?" his dad asked as he slumped into the only free chair left in the room.

Finn eyed him curiously, taking in his appearance, but he didn't say anything.

"I suppose. Isaballa—that's my teacher, you know—is great, but she's a little intense. She's decided that I should start practicing en pointe in order to 'strengthen my feet.'"

His dad pursed his lips in amusement. "A little? I've only seen her a time or two, but from what I could tell, she is way more than a little intense. I didn't know you _could _strengthen your feet. What's that mean anyway? En pointe?"

"It's where you dance on the tips of your toes. Normally only ballerinas dance en point, but Isabella thinks it will help me, so I'm going to give it a shot. It could be a very useful skill to have."

"Huh, well, I'm sure she knows what she's doing, and if she thinks you ought to know, it's probably a good thing for you to learn," his dad said.

Finn just goggled at him. "_Dude_, won't that hurt? I've seen Rachel dance like that before, and there's no way I could ever do it."

"It can be painful until you're used to it," he conceded. "I think I'll go take a shower before dinner."

When he came back upstairs nearly an hour later, the three of them were already sitting down at the table waiting for him.

"I really think it's cool that you're coming to McKinley. You should totally join glee. We could use more members," Finn said in between stuffing his mouth with food.

"Maybe."

Finn just shrugged and went back to eating.

"So, Kurt," Carole said, smiling brightly. "Your dad said that you were going to be in The Nutcracker? I used to go see it every year when I was a little girl. It's a beautiful production."

Kurt nodded. "The boy who was supposed to play The Nutcracker was in a car accident and can't go on, and since I was the understudy, I got the part," he paused. "If you'd like, you could come with my dad to see it. It's not for a few months, obviously, but…"

Both Carole and his dad smiled at that. "Of course, I'd love to go! And you would, too, Finn, wouldn't you?"

Finn looked up from his plate like a deer in the headlights. "Uh, yeah—I guess—alright," he stammered obviously unaware of what he had just agreed to.

"I'll make sure to get tickets for all of you then."

Later that night, after Carole and Finn had gone home, his dad came into the kitchen where Kurt was getting his lunch ready for the next day.

"Carole means a lot to me, and I really appreciate you making the effort to get to know her."

"She seems like a lovely woman," Kurt said carefully. That much was true at least. She was well-meaning at any rate. She had been fairly sincere in her attempts to get to know him, but for some reason he was still bothered by her presence.

"Yeah, she is," he paused at the doorway. "You should probably head to bed soon. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

The only reason Kurt got any sleep Tuesday night was due to sheer exhaustion. Otherwise, he would have tossed and turned all night. As it was, he was feeling less than a hundred percent when he woke up. He threw himself into his morning exercises hoping that it would calm him down. It did, but only momentarily because by the time he was standing in front of his closet ready to put on the outfit he and Blaine had put together—it had taken a long time because of the sheer amount of clothing that Kurt owned, but they had finally settled on a pair of gray mohair suit pants and his favorite gray s-bend cardigan from Alexander McQueen along with the Salvatore Ferragamo boots that Blaine had initially picked out—he was starting to feel nervous again, and by the time that he had picked Sam up, he was a nervous wreck.

"So, you ready for this?" Sam asked as they pulled into the parking lot of McKinley High.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

The truth was that Kurt was so far from ready it was ridiculous. He had never been the new kid before. With the exception of Blaine, he had gone to school with practically the same group of people since elementary school.

Sam offered him a grin. "Look, it'll be fine. _You'll _be fine. What's your first class again?"

"Physics," Kurt said after glancing at his schedule for the hundredth time. "With Bennett."

Sam was visibly relieved. "That's okay then! Artie, Mike, _and _Tina are all in that class, so you won't be alone. I'll just text Artie and tell him to wait for us."

"Are those friends of yours from the glee club?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I think you'll really like them. Artie's the only person I know whose better at Halo than you, and Mike's a dancer, too."

"And Tina?"

"Well, I don't know her as well, but she's Mike's girlfriend. She's nice enough, I guess. Dresses a little funny, but yeah, she's okay. We should probably head inside so I have time to introduce you before class starts. I have Spanish with Mr. Schue first period, so he won't give me a hard time if I'm late, but I don't want to try my luck."

Kurt took in a shaky breath. "Right," he said, but he didn't make any attempt to leave the car.

A _ping _from his iPhone alerted him to a new text message. It was from Blaine, but it only said one word: _Courage_.

Blaine was right. Wasn't that the whole point of this? To take a risk? What was the point of that if he was just going to cower in the car? Kurt took one last deep breath, grabbed his satchel, and got out of the car.

Sam grinned and followed suit. "It won't be bad, you'll see."

By the time they make it to Kurt's first class, Kurt wasn't so sure at all.

Before they'd even made it into the building, a group of boys wearing letterman jackets had walked by jeering at them. Most of them continued walking by, but one of them, a tall dark-haired boy, stopped and stared at Kurt.

"Hey Evans, Ladyboy here your boyfriend?"

The grin had dropped off Sam's face only to be replaced by a snarl. "Keep walking, Karofsky."

The boy, Karofsky, hesitated. He opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, Finn came walking up from the parking lot.

"There a problem here, Karofsky?" Finn asked, looking from Sam's defensive posture to where Karofsky stood, his eyes still firmly fixed on Kurt.

After a minute or two, the football player shrugged and went to join the others who were chortling nearby.

"We should go, or we'll be late," Sam said. He turned to Finn. "I'm going to show Kurt where his first class is, let Mr. Schue know, okay?"

Finn nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"Are they always like that?" Kurt, who had been so stunned by the entire exchange he hadn't even had a chance to react, asked Sam when they were finally in the building.

Sam frowned. "Not really. I mean, Karofsky and Azimio slushied me once, right after I joined glee, and I know they give the other glee kids a hard time, but they normally leave me alone. I'm not sure what his problem is today."

"Huh," was Kurt's only reply.

Sam grabbed his arm and squeezed. "Hey, forget Karofsky. He's an idiot. Don't let him ruin your first day."

Kurt smiled tightly. "You're right. Well, come on, I don't want to be late to my very first class. What sort of impression would that make?"

When they finally got to room 213, there were two boys, one was a tall, lanky Asian boy and the other was in a wheelchair, and an Asian girl dressed all in black waiting for them.

"Guys, this is my friend, Kurt. He just transferred here from my old school. Kurt, this is Artie, Mike, and Tina," Sam said pointing at the boy in the wheel chair, the tall Asian boy, and then finally at the girl

"Hey," they all chorused.

"Well, I should go," Sam said when the warning bell rang. "I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

Kurt nodded.

"You can sit with me," Artie offered as they all entered the classroom. "I'm the only one without a partner."

Kurt's brow furrowed. "Is that usual?"

Artie shrugged. "Yeah. I mean, I've had several partners before, but no one can ever keep up with me, so Mr. Bennett finally gave up and let me work on my own." At Kurt's incredulous look, he continued. "I don't mind, really. It's much easier this way because I don't have to deal with people sabotaging my labs anymore."

"Well," Kurt said as he settled down onto the bench next to Artie. "I hope I can keep up with you. Physics isn't exactly my strong suit."

Artie didn't get a chance to reply though because a stuffy looking man, obviously Mr. Bennett, swept into the room and everyone fell quiet at once. After taking roll, he called Kurt to the front to collect his book and then began the lesson. Luckily, he had been much farther along in the course back at Dalton than they were here, so he didn't have any trouble following the short lecture or the lab on strobe photography that followed.

"So, what's your next class?" Artie asked as they filed out of the classroom with the other students, Mike and Tina following behind him.

"Pre-cal with Malhoney."

"Looks like you're with me again then."

The rest of the day passed by smoothly. At lunch, he was introduced to yet more members of the glee club, a girl named Mercedes, the infamous Quinn, and a pair of cheerleaders whose names he could not remember. The problems started when he entered the choir room after school with Sam.

He wasn't even sure that he really _wanted _to join McKinley's glee club, the New Directions, but Sam had seemed so disappointed when he told him so during lunch that he had agreed to at least come to one meeting. He regretted doing so the minute he stepped foot into the choir room.

"What's he doing here?" Rachel hissed from where she was standing by Finn, her tone so hostile and accusatory that Kurt was taken aback. He might not be fond of her, but he certainly hadn't done anything to earn that sort of treatment from her. He hadn't even spoken to her since their one shared dinner.

"I was under the impression that glee club was always open for new members," he answered coolly, his eyes narrowed. "If that's not the case, then I can always leave."

"No!" Sam said, and he was echoed by several of the other members, Artie in particular. "What's your problem with Kurt, Rachel?"

"Yeah," Tina chimed in. "First you send Sunshine to a _crack house_ and now this?"

"He's come to spy on us for Vocal Adrenaline! Puck said that he's friends with Jesse!"

With that, all of the protest died out, except for Sam. "Yeah, well, Puck's not here, is he? Anyway, that's not true. I've known Kurt since we were kids, and he'd never do anything like that."

"I was in _one _ballet production with him three summers. I'm not his friend," Kurt said, "Jesse isn't even in Vocal Adrenaline anymore. He graduated. Even if he hadn't graduated, I definitely wouldn't spy for Vocal Adrenaline—not after they were the reason my old glee club came in second place at Nationals last year!" He turned to Sam. "I'll just wait for you outside. This was a mistake."

A curly haired man that Kurt assumed was Mr. Schuester entered the room then. "Sorry I was late, guys. I have some bad news. I just came from Principal Figgins' office. Puckerman's in Juvie," he paused when he noticed Kurt, who was in the process of edging towards the door. "Oh hey! You must be Sam's friend. He said you would be joining us today. Welcome to McKinley."

"Thanks, but I think I should just go. Rachel's made it abundantly clear that my presence is unwanted."

"Wait, what?" He turned and leveled a disapproving look in Rachel's direction. "I thought we had discussed this before, after the Sunshine incident, Rachel. _Everyone _is welcome in The New Directions."

Kurt used the distraction of the ensuing chaos to slip out the door.

Sam caught up with him in the parking lot. "Hold up, Kurt! Wait for me."

"Aren't you going to stay for glee? I'll just wait for you outside. I don't mind."

Sam's expression was stony. "No way was I going to stay after that."

Kurt's eyes widened. "But you love glee club! I'll admit that I was surprised when you decided to join because you'd never been interested in joining the Warblers, but you love it. You talk about it all the time."

"Yeah, well, I love you more. You're my best friend, Kurt, and I don't want to be around anyone who doesn't want _you _around."

"But—"

Sam cut him off. "There's nothing to talk about. Let's just go back to your house until you have to leave for your vocal lesson. You told me this morning you would let me listen to the songs you've picked out so far. You still up for it?"

"Yes, of course I am, but are you sure?"

"Positive."

* * *

*Edited on 5/12/11 for mistakes!*


	7. Chapter 7

Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, but it's FINALS week. I should be studying as we speak, but I think if I study anymore my head might explode. I want to apologize in advance for this chapter. I'm not sure how I feel about it. It isn't exactly what I had planned, but it sorta had a life of its own. Also, I'm in need of a beta if anyone's interested. I had one, but they just dropped off the internet, so I do apologize for the last chapter or two. Please ignore any mistakes I may have made regarding the ballet terms. I tried to research as much as I could, but I wasn't able to find any sites that really explained what I was looking for. There's a bit of a surprise at the end of the chapter for you, too!

I hope it doesn't seem like Kurt as MPD cause the writing time was pretty disjointed for this chapter.

What He Needs  
_or _  
How Kurt Hummel Finally Learned to Stop Planning His Life and Start Living it

By _Koinaka_

No, you can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
And if you try sometime you find  
You get what you need

- _You Can't Always Get What You Want, _The Rolling Stones

Chapter Seven

Kurt got slushied for the first time on Thursday.

When he woke up that morning, he hadn't expected anything like that to happen. In fact, he didn't think it would be possible to _ever _expect anything like that to happen. Sure, Sam had told him, several times actually, about being "slushied" but it hadn't ever occurred to him that _he _might be slushied. And why would it? He didn't know anyone at McKinley, not really, so why would they slushie him?

He hadn't even thought it would be possible for his second day at McKinley to be worse than his first day, what with the jeering jocks, homophobic taunts, and practically being chased out of the choir room—okay, so maybe he was being a bit melodramatic since he was the one to walk out, although he had the impression that Rachel had been thisclose to singing "The March of the Witch Hunters." Plus, he had been in far too good of a mood to think his day would be anything but good.

His vocal lesson the night before had been great. Wonderful even. They had finally decided on his final audition piece, The Fairies' Dance, which meant that on Friday, they would begin preparing in earnest. Not that they hadn't before, because they definitely had, it was just that selecting the songs had ended up being an entire process in and of itself. Now that they had finished that, they could focus on more important matters, like him actually being able to sing his selections proficiently.

After his vocal lesson was over, Kurt had had to rush back to Lima for his first pointe class. He hadn't been thrilled with the idea of having both vocal lessons and ballet on the same night—especially considering his commute—but there wasn't much he could do about it. His only saving grace was that it was spread out so that he had plenty of time to get there.

The problem was that when he had decided to transfer, one of the many things he hadn't even considered was the logistics of his lessons. Arthur was already going out of his way to drive to Dalton—the man lived an hour in the opposite direction from both Dalton and Lima—so Kurt couldn't really expect him to drive the additional 76 miles to Lima. Then there was the matter of just where in Lima they would have the lessons. If it had been his old house—with his mom—that wouldn't have been a problem because they had had an entire room for his piano and all of his musical things, but he didn't have that kind of room at his dad's. Luckily—and no doubt thanks to his grandfather's generosity—the Headmaster at Dalton was more than happy to allow Kurt and Arthur to continue using Dalton's facilities.

So now instead of driving the 76 miles back to Lima for his ballet lessons, like he had been doing ever since he began going to Dalton, he had to drive back to Westerville—and Dalton—for his vocal lessons. It was a trade-off, yes, and a bit of an inconvenience now that he was having lessons three times a week, but there was small silver lining—he now had a perfectly valid excuse to spend time with Blaine and Jeff at least twice a week. Not that he needed one, but still.

Once he had gotten back in Lima there had been the ballet lesson itself.

Kurt loved ballet. He loved performing it; he loved watching it. He loved everything about it: the beauty of it, the grace of it, the feelings it could invoke, while both dancing and watching, _everything_. Except that, sometimes, Kurt found himself wishing that things were different because he hated that the roles he could dance were restricted by his gender. Why couldn't he be the Sugar Plum Fairy if he wanted? Not that he wanted, especially, to be the Sugar Plum Fairy; it was the point of the matter. He had enjoyed the roles he had had thus far—being the Nutcracker was going to be wonderful—but he just hated the fact that there were roles that would always be unattainable to him. Not to mention that he could still remember being so disappointed when all of the girls in his classes began their pointe work and he wasn't able to.

But now he was finally getting his chance to experience something he had wanted to do for years. Not only was he getting a chance to learn pointe, but Isabella was giving him private lessons to do so. It was a great opportunity; one that could possibly open up doors for him in the future.

The first lesson hadn't even been a proper lesson, but he hadn't cared. He just listened to Isabella as she instructed him on the proper way to care for his feet and his shoes. At the end, after he had gone through the lengthy processes of getting his shoes ready to be worn as well as learning how to tie the ribbons on the shoes—not as easy as it looked, to be honest—she had had him walk around in the shoes. It had been much more difficult than he would have thought, well, maybe difficult was the wrong word, strange more like. Then, right before leaving, she had allowed him to attempt a releve with the full support of both hands on the barre. Even _with _full support he had nearly fallen over—and that was after not even being able to perform the releve!

"Not as easy as you thought it would be," Isabella had commented, wryly, with one dark eyebrow raised, as he untied the shoes and massaged his sore feet.

How it was even possible for them to feel so sore when he'd barely even attempted anything was anyone's guess.

"Definitely not," had been his response.

It was the truth. There was often a bit of disconnect between watching the flawless performances in a professional ballet performance—they made it look so effortless—and actually performing yourself. While it may _look _easy, he knew first hand that it was not. He had a feeling that this was going to be a skill that he was going to have to work at, that he was going to have to put in a lot of blood, sweat, and tears—literally!—into. There was a reason that pointe work was considered a special milestone in a ballet dancer's life because there were some ballerinas who were never able to do it. Still, he couldn't help but feel giddy and more than a little elated as he left the studio.

When he finally did get home, he had only been slightly surprised to see that Carole and Finn were once again over. He had a feeling that his dad and Carole were a lot more serious than he knew, and he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. He hadn't thought that he would care, but the surge of emotion he felt when he walked in on the three of them watching some sporting event together proved otherwise. He ignored the feelings of—what? Jealousy maybe?—and headed to the kitchen after greeting them. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and all that he wanted to do was to eat and to fall into his extremely soft bed and not necessarily in that order.

He was in the middle of making a salad while he heated up the vegan lasagna that Sam's mom had sent over on Saturday when Finn came into the kitchen. Kurt said nothing to him, choosing, instead, to continue chopping and dicing. Finally, after several minutes had passed, Finn spoke.

"I'm—_we're_—really sorry about what happened today." He paused. "At glee," he clarified when Kurt still said nothing.

Kurt didn't even look up from what he was doing. "Really."

"Rachel… she's just a little protective of us, plus after what Jesse did to her last year, well…" he trailed off.

"That's fine. She's entitled to her opinion, of course. For the record, I'm not a spy, and if I _was_ spying for Vocal Adrenaline—which I'm not—then I definitely wouldn't waste my time spying on a glee club that I'd never heard of in the first place. If I _had _been spying, I would have just stayed where I was since my old glee club came in _second_ at Nationals while New Directions didn't even place at Regionals. But I think you knew that I wasn't a spy. I also think you know why I transferred, part of it at any rate."

Kurt did look at Finn then, and his expression was decidedly guilty and uncomfortable.

He shrugged. "Your dad, right? I figured you might want to be closer to your dad after his heart attack. I would have done the same thing if it was my mom. Especially since your dad said your mom just died last year."

At the mention of his mother, Kurt dropped the knife he was using to chop up a tomato. It clanged loudly to the floor. He took in a deep breath as he picked it up and rinsed it off. "Yes, that was part of the reason."

"Sorry," Finn muttered. "I didn't mean to—"

Kurt cut him off. "It's fine."

Finn fidgeted as Kurt sat down at the bar and began eating his salad. "Anyway, I guess I'll just go. I just wanted to apologize. About before."

He didn't make any attempts to leave, however, instead he just stood there and continued to watch Kurt.

"I appreciate your apology," Kurt said, finally.

Finn's relief was almost comical. "You do? That's great! Because Mr. Schue was _really _mad at Rachel, and Rachel's been freaking out all afternoon because Mr. Schue put her on probation since this was the second time she's run someone out of the club—only this time she's run _two _people out instead of just one. So, you'll come to glee tomorrow afternoon?"

Kurt stared at Finn in confusion. "No," he said slowly. "I never said I would come back."

Finn gaped. "But you said you—"

"I said that I appreciated your apology, not that I accepted it."

"Oh," he said. He still looked fairly confused. "But why wouldn't you accept it?"

"Second hand apologies aren't known for their sincerity." Kurt sighed at Finn's continued expression of confusion. "The apology would be much more believable if it was Rachel doing the apologizing instead of _you." _

"Oh! I get it," he said. "So, if Rachel apologized to you, would you come back?"

He hesitated. "I don't know."

Finn drooped. "Do you think Sam would? I mean, I kinda get why he walked out, since you're his friend and everything, but he really liked glee club, so do you think if we apologized to him that he would come back?"

Kurt had told him that he wasn't sure, and he thought that would be the end of that. Only it wasn't. About an hour later, when Kurt was just about to go to bed, there was a knock at the basement door. Before he even had a chance to climb up the stairs to answer it, the door opened and Finn came in.

"Look, you were right. You and Sam both deserve real apologies."

"Yes," Kurt said, his head cocked to the side considering Finn for a moment. "We do."

"Come to the choir room tomorrow afternoon," he held his hand up to stop Kurt from protesting. "We just want to make it up to you, okay? So please just come."

In the end, Kurt had agreed.

The truth was that even if Rachel apologized, so long as Kurt refused to go back, Sam probably wouldn't go back either.

Kurt had never intended for Sam to follow him when he left the choir room. Granted, he should have expected it, but he hadn't, and while Sam might have said—several times throughout the afternoon before his vocal lessons and then afterward during their brief telephone conversation—that he was okay with it, Kurt knew the truth. He knew how much the club meant to Sam, how much his friends in glee club meant to him, and he wasn't going to let Sam give all of that up because of one girl—or because of him.

So, all of the events of the previous afternoon—his lessons, his conversation with Finn, his decision about glee club—had all played their part in his joyous mood on Thursday morning. He had breezed through his morning exercises and taken great delight in selecting his outfit for the day—his newest Roberto Cavalli pieces had been a bit too edgy for Dalton even for after-school wear but the dress code at McKinley was lack at best and nonexistent at worst so there was no harm in wearing them there—all the while thinking of a way to convince Sam that they ought to go back to glee club, that _he_ wanted them to go back to glee club.

It was much easier said than done because there was only one downside to having a best friend who knew you better than anyone else—_they knew you better than anyone else_. This meant that you often had zero chance of fooling them. If you were Kurt, your chances were even slimmer because he had absolutely _no _ability to lie to his friends. People, Sam especially, had this uncanny ability to just _look _at Kurt and know if he was up to no good. Which he wasn't. Not very often at any rate.

True to form, Sam took one look at him as he got into the passenger seat that morning and shook his head. "Whatever it is you're planning, forget it."

Kurt widened his eyes innocently. "I'm not planning anything." And he really wasn't because _technically_ it was Rachel and Finn doing the planning.

"Yeah, right. You've got that look in your eye."

"What look?"

"Don't try and act all innocent with me. You know exactly what look I'm talking about. The last time you got that look on your face, we ended up being banned from Westerville Mall for a month, and I couldn't look Jeff—or _you—_in the face for, like, _weeks_."

Kurt blushed at the memory. There was a reason they called it The Incident. "Well, to be fair, Sam, I most definitely didn't plan _that_. It was just… a _very_ nice side effect. But we're getting decidedly off point. I'm not planning anything."

"Dude, just—_no_. There are some things you just don't want to know about your brother, and that's one of them. So just..._no_."

"Well, no one madeyou open the dressing room door, did they?"

Now it was Sam who was blushing. "Okay, so, on a scale of 1 to 10, what level of public humiliation should I expect from this plan?"

Kurt shrugged. "Well, I would assume no more so than usual. How often have you been humiliated in the glee club?"

"What? But yesterday—"

Kurt held up his hand. "It was very kind of you to walk out with me yesterday, Sam—it was—kind but unnecessary. You _love _glee club, and I'm not going to let you give that up."

Sam's look was resolute. "Yeah, well, it was my decision, and I stand by it. I don't want to be in the glee club if they don't want you there. Even if they are my friends."

"Finn was waiting for me when I got home from ballet last night. Apparently, Rachel apologized. Well, _Finn _apologized on her behalf. When I refused to accept a second hand apology, Finn asked if we would meet him in the choir room," Kurt paused. "And I think we should."

"Yeah, well, I don't. Rachel—"

"Clearly has some deep-seated trust issues to work through—preferably with a health-care professional—but I digress. As far as I am concerned, she doesn't have to _like _me. In fact, I could care less if she does. I certainly don't like _her_. Not after yesterday at least. The point is that ultimately, it's not up to her if I join. So long as Mr. Schuester allows it, she really has no say. Besides, how do you expect to win over the lovely Quinn if you're not in glee with her?" He took his eyes off the road momentarily to sweep them over Sam's outfit—jeans and a t-shirt with some superhero logo that he'd never heard of on it—critically. "Especially considering your dismal taste in clothes."

He shrugged. "Look, I like Quinn, don't get me wrong. I think she's pretty, and she has these _eyes_…" He shook his head and took a deep breath. "But none of that matters."

"It does matter, to _me _at least. Let's just go and see what they have to say."

Sam sighed. "Dude, _Kurt_," he corrected at Kurt's glare. "It's just… Rachel can be a little intense. I mean, you heard Tina. She sent someone to a crack house because she was afraid the girl would take away her spotlight. Just because she apologizes doesn't mean she won't do something like that again if she feels threatened by you which she probably will because you're kinda awesome."

"Only _kinda?"_ Kurt asked with a teasing lilt to his voice.

"You know what I mean."

"I appreciate your concern—I do—but I've spent the last two years in a glee club under the direction of _Wes_. I think I can handle Rachel Berry."

"If you say so…" he trailed off, his expression still uncertain.

"I do."

Sam sighed and ran his hand through his already messy hair as they climbed out of the Navigator. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to go hear her out at least, but if she so much as _says _the word spy, we're leaving."

Kurt knew that was as good as it was going to get. "Deal, but really, Sammy, I'm sure it'll be fine. _I'll _be fine."

And he would be. What was the worst thing that could happen anyway?

He wasn't sure that being hit in the face—and neck and _clothes_—with a frozen beverage was the worst thing that could happen, but it certainly wasn't the best. Although he _was_ fairly certain it had nothing to do with the glee club because unless that boy—Karofsky, was it?—was a mind-reader, which he supremely doubted, he wouldn't have known about that.

It happened on the way to lunch.

He was in the middle of a very in-depth conversation with Tina about Vivienne Westwood's fall collection when it happened.

He had only briefly spoken to Tina the day before, so he had been completely shocked when he had walked into Physics that morning only for Tina to begin gushing over his outfit.

"Is that from Roberto Cavalli's fall collection?"

Pleased, Kurt had smiled and nodded. "It is. Do you like it?"

"Yes! It's looks even better on you." The girl flushed when she realized what she had said. "Not that I'm trying to pick you up or anything, I only mean that sometimes that stuff you see on the runway doesn't look very good on normal people."

Kurt had just stared at her in amazement. Talking to someone that was not only interested in fashion but that could recognize a designer from the outfit alone was something he definitely wasn't used to. Blaine was the only one of his friends who was even remotely interested in fashion, and even then, the two of them had clashing opinions on most things. Blaine thought the _Gap_, of all places, was an acceptable place to shop, so clearly he wasn't the perfect person to talk fashion with. He'd never had any friends who were girls, either. Besides the obligatory social functions with Dalton's sister school and his dance classes, he didn't even socialize with girls. Not that he had anything against them or anything; he simply had never had the opportunity before.

The two of them spent the rest of the morning—well, in between classes at any rate— talking about the various fall collections. By lunch time, they had managed to talk their way through many of their favorite designers and had moved on to the collections they hadn't liked so much.

"The only people that would be caught dead in any of those pieces are the homeless!"

Kurt laughed. "Well, I doubt that a homeless person would be able to afford any of them, but your opinion does have some merit. She definitely took quite a risk with this collection—"

Kurt's words were cut off when a familiar football player walked by flinging a slushie into Kurt's face as he did.

He wasn't sure what shocked him more—the fact that it had happened at all or the fact that _no one had noticed_. Even the teachers nearby, of which there were several, didn't blink an eye. The only person who noticed was Tina, and all she did was cluck sympathetically.

"Come on, I'll help you get cleaned up."

But Kurt couldn't move. He was frozen to the spot, the cherry red slushie dripping down his face and neck and beneath his already wet clothing. He just looked at Tina with wide eyes.

"He threw a slushie at me," he said, inanely. "He just… _threw _it at me and kept walking."

Tina grimaced. "Yeah, they do that a lot. The jocks. You get used to it."

"And no one even stopped him! The teachers saw him—I know they did!—but they just turned around and walked the other way. Why would they do that?"

"That's what they always do." Tina shrugged resignedly. "You get used to it."

It was her resignation that snapped Kurt out of his slushie driven fugue. "You _shouldn't_ get used to it. _I _won't get used to it."

"Figgins won't do anything, he never does. Come on. You don't want to wait, or it'll dry. It's ten times worse if it dries before you can clean it off. Trust me."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "We'll see about that." He turned and stalked off in the direction of the office.

"Wait! Where are you going?" she called after him.

"To see the principal."

Tina and the others students might be used to that sort of treatment, but Kurt definitely wasn't. He was used to Dalton and their zero tolerance harassment policy. Even without a zero tolerance policy, they should be able to expect a certain level of safety at school. In the meantime, Kurt was going to speak the principal. The man was in charge of the school, surely there was something he could do about it even if the teachers refused to acknowledge it!

Only that hadn't turned out as well as he had hoped it would because when he showed up at the principal's office, still dripping, the secretary had given him a disapproving look and attempted to send him on his way.

"Principal Figgins is in a meeting," she told him in a clipped tone, her lips set in a thin line.

Kurt, who had always been taught that you caught more flies with honey than with vinegar, just smiled sweetly at the woman and sank down gracefully—well, as gracefully as he could when he was covered in slushie—onto one of the many chairs in the reception area. "I'll wait, thank you."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. The meeting is expected to last all afternoon."

Kurt's smile had faded. "I see. Well, then, I suppose the Vice-Principal will have to do if Principal Figgins is unavailable." He paused. "You _do _have a Vice-Principal, don't you? Someone in charge of disciplinary actions?"

"I'm very sorry, but he's also in a meeting," the secretary said though she didn't sound sorry at all.

Kurt could tell when he was being given the runaround. He could also tell when there was nothing he could do about it. "Thank you for your assistance," he said as he left the office. He didn't stop at the cafeteria, though; he just kept walking, ignoring the whispers and giggles that followed him, until he reached his car.

To say that his dad was surprised to see him come through the front door was an understatement. He was even more surprised to see the state he was in.

"What happened to you, kid? Shouldn't you be in class?"

"It's lunch," he said, beginning to strip off his wet outer layers. He would have to take them to the dry cleaners immediately and hope they wouldn't stain. They had cost a fortune. "One of the football players—I think his name is Karofsky— threw a slushie at me. Can you believe it? He was just walked by me and threw it in my face—he didn't even stop or turn around and look at me! He just threw it and kept walking down the hall."

His dad frowned. "What'd the teachers say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" His dad echoed, his voice getting angrier by the second. "Did they not see him do it or something?"

Kurt shook his head, a wry expression on his face. "Oh, they saw him do it, alright. The girl I was talking to when it happened—Tina—said it happens all the time and that the teachers never do anything about it. I tried talking to the principal, but he was 'in a meeting' which is, I'm sure, just code for 'I don't care.'"

Kurt stopped when he saw the look on his dad's face. It was then that he realized this was, quite possibly, the longest conversation they had had in months. Or the most verbose, at any rate.

"Oh yeah? Let's see if he ignores _me_. Why don't you go on downstairs and get cleaned up? I'll see if I can't get that Figgi man on the phone. No one pushes the Hummels around."

Luckily Kurt's next class after lunch was study hall because there was no way he would make it back in time even if he was able to take the shortest of showers—which he wasn't thanks to the sticky substance coating his skin—and didn't have to drop his clothes off at the dry cleaners first—which he most certainly did, no way was he going to let a stain like this wait.

His dad was glaring balefully at the telephone receiver when Kurt came back upstairs freshly showered and in a new outfit.

"No luck, I take it?"

"Apparently, there's nothing they can do because there isn't any rule against drinking slushies on school grounds."

Kurt's brow furrowed. "But he wasn't _drinking _it, he was throwing it! There must be a rule about _that_."

His dad's fingers twitched angrily. "Principal Figgins assures me that it must have been just an 'accident' because Dave is a 'model student.'"

"That's completely ridiculous!"

"Yeah. It is. But there doesn't seem to be much we can do about it. For now. If it happens again, believe you me, I'll be makin' a trip down to that school to talk to Figgi in person. I don't trust that man as far as I could throw him. He gave me the creeps the other day when we were getting' your paperwork done."

Kurt let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose you're right. Well, I should go if I want to make it to the dry cleaners and back to the school on time for Art."

"Do you need a note or something?"

He shrugged. "I doubt it. If the teachers didn't notice a kid throwing a slushie in my face why would they notice me missing a class or two? I'll see you after ballet."

"Thought you had that last night?"

"I did, but this is a different class."

His dad just shook his head. "Don't know how you do it all, kid."

Kurt was right. The teachers hadn't noticed his absence at all. Sam, on the other hand, most certainly had, and he was…well, angry would be putting it mildly.

"I am so ready to put the beat down on Karofsky," were the first words out of Sam's mouth when Kurt finally got to the art room. Sam's geometry class was next to his, so they had met up there the day before.

"Violence is never the answer," Kurt said, trying to keep a light tone.

"It is if the question is 'What's the best way to rearrange Karofsky's face?'" Sam said, practically vibrating in anger. "I can't believe he did that."

"I don't know why you can't. Apparently, it's an often enough occurrence. Isn't that what you said? That you'd been slushied before? I know Tina wasn't surprised. _No one _near me even blinked an eye."

"Yeah, well, he shouldn't have done that. Not to you anyway."

Kurt gave Sam a dry smile. "He shouldn't do it to anyone. No one should, and that's what I told Tina and what I would have told Principal Figgins if I had had a chance to speak to him."

"So, what, you're just going to do nothing?"

"I didn't say that. My dad made a complaint, but there doesn't seem to be a whole lot I can do at this point."

"Fine, but I'll be keeping an eye on Karofsky, and if he so much as breathes in your general direction, he'll wish he hadn't."

The rest of the school day went by without incident. Of course, that was partly because Sam insisted on walking him from Art to French—even though it was going out of his way to do so—and then from French to the choir room.

Sam hesitated outside the choir room, studying Kurt's face intently. "You sure about this? We don't have to go just because they want to apologize to us."

"Come on, don't you want to see them groveling at our feet?"

Sam's look was skeptical. "Yeah, I doubt that's going to happen." He sighed. "Let's just get this over with."

Kurt shook his head in exasperation. "You act like we're about to face the firing squad and not your friends."

He ignored Sam's mutter of "_is there a difference?_" and pulled him into the room.

The glee club was waiting for them, and the minute they entered the room, Rachel began to speak.

"Thank you for coming. Even though I believe my suspicions were warranted, at this time, Finn and I would like to apologize to both Kurt and Sam. In song if that is acceptable to you."

Kurt laid a hand on Sam's arm. He could almost feel his friend glaring at the girl. This was not going to end well. "It is," he said when he realized they were waiting for a response.

When the music started and they began singing, Kurt couldn't believe what he was hearing. Out of all of the songs about apologizing that he could think of, this one hadn't even registered as a possibility. Of course, he hadn't truly expected Rachel to apologize. Not sincerely, at least. He had a feeling that the only reason she was even doing this in the first place was because she was being forced.

He didn't make eye contact with either Rachel or Finn while they sang; instead he looked around the room and studied the other members of the club. Everyone was paired off in two's or three's, and none of them were paying the least bit of attention to the two singing. Some of them were rolling their eyes—the three cheerleaders—some were giggling quietly—Tina and the other girl whose name he couldn't remember—while the last pair, Mike and Artie pointedly did not talk to one another. Every few seconds, Artie's eyes would flit over to where Tina was sitting. Finally, the song drew to a close.

"_What, what kind of fool_

_Tears it apart_

_Leaving me pain and sorrow?_

_Losing you now_

_Wondering why _

_Where will I be tomorrow?_

_What, what kind of fool_

_Tears it apart_

_Leaving me pain and sorrow?_

_Losing you now_

_How can I win?_

_Where will I be tomorrow?"_

At first no one said anything, but then Mr. Schuester stood up.

"Not exactly what I had in mind, Rachel, but I'm sure that Kurt and Sam appreciate the gesture."

Rachel looked very much like she wanted to say something else, but Finn shot her a look, and she closed her mouth. The two of them took a seat in the front row.

Mr. Schuester turned to where he and Sam were still standing. He clapped his hands together. "If you're still interested, Kurt, we would love for you to join."

"I am," Kurt said. For the first time since he arrived at McKinley, he realized that he did want to join the New Directions. The dynamic of the club seemed so different from that of the Warblers that he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like.

Mr. Schuester smiled brightly. "Terrific. Now, this is just a formality because anyone who wants to join New Directions can, but if you had something prepared, we would love to hear you perform."

_Oh_.

Kurt hadn't expected that at all. He hadn't even thought to prepare something. He could do one of his audition pieces, but he didn't think that any of them were quite right for this occasion. There was one song he had been working on before his dad's heart attack. He had been trying to make it into an arrangement for the Warblers, but he hadn't been able to do so. Mostly because Wes hadn't liked it, but that was neither here nor there. It wasn't his style exactly. It was more Blaine's style which considering Kurt had had him in mind when working on it was the point. He supposed it would have to do.

"I've got something," he said at last. "It might be a bit rough, but…"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Mr. Schuester said.

Sam finally sat down next to Artie. He still looked apprehensive but he did give Kurt an encouraging smile.

Kurt walked over to the piano was. "If I may?" he asked the man sitting on the bench.

"No problem," the man said pushing himself off of the bench.

As Kurt sat down, Mr. Schuester came over to adjust one of the microphones for him.

He wasn't sure why he felt so nervous all of a sudden, he lived for performing, but for some reason this felt differently. He took a deep breath and then started singing. Thankfully, the nerves went away the minute he hit the opening notes, and then he didn't think about anything else but the words he was singing, and the notes his fingers were playing.

_"Do I attract you?  
Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?  
Am I too dirty?  
Am I too flirty?  
Do I like what you like?_

I could be wholesome  
I could be loathsome  
I guess I'm a little bit shy  
Why don't you like me?  
Why don't you like me without making me try?

I tried to be like Grace Kelly  
But all her looks were too sad  
So I try a little Freddie  
I've gone identity mad!

I could be brown  
I could be blue  
I could be violet sky  
I could be hurtful  
I could be purple  
I could be anything you like

_Gotta be green  
Gotta be mean  
Gotta be everything more  
Why don't you like me?  
Why don't you like me?  
Why don't you walk out the door!_

How can I help it  
How can I help it  
How can I help what you think?  
Hello my baby  
Hello my baby  
Putting my life on the brink

_Why don't you like me  
Why don't you like me  
Why don't you like yourself?  
Should I bend over?  
Should I look older just to be put on your shelf?_

I tried to be like Grace Kelly  
But all her looks were too sad  
So I try a little Freddie  
I've gone identity mad!

I could be brown  
I could be blue  
I could be violet sky  
I could be hurtful  
I could be purple  
I could be anything you like

Gotta be green  
Gotta be mean  
Gotta be everything more  
Why don't you like me?  
Why don't you like me?  
Why don't you walk out the door!

Say what you want to satisfy yourself  
But you only want what everybody else says you should want,  
you should want.

I could be brown  
I could be blue  
I could be violet sky  
I could be hurtful  
I could be purple  
I could be anything you like

_Gotta be green  
Gotta be mean  
Gotta be everything more  
Why don't you like me?  
Why don't you like me?  
Walk out the door!_

_I could be brown  
I could be blue  
I could be violet sky  
I could be hurtful  
I could be purple  
I could be anything you like_

_Gotta be green  
Gotta be mean  
Gotta be everything more  
Why don't you like me?  
Why don't you like me?  
Walk out the door!_"

When Kurt ended the last note, there was a slight pause before everyone began clapping loudly. There was only one person who didn't look happy: Rachel.

Mr. Schuester waited for everyone to stop clapping before speaking. "I think I speak for everyone when I say: Welcome to New Directions!"

* * *

Here's the little something extra 'cause I'm feeling guilty about my absence!

At my livejournal, I've posted the videos of Kurt's audition pieces for Julliard as well as his audition piece for New Directions. You'll find the link on my profile!

Next chapter should bring the duet competition, some bonding time with the boys of New Directions, an announcement from his father, and some more on the Karofsky/slushie/bully front! _Maybe_ the return of Puck as well, if I can manage it.


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for the ridiculously long wait. I had finals, then graduation, and then moving! On top of all of that, I really struggled with the beginning of this. Once I started, however, it just came-and came-and came! I finally cut it off at 8600 words. I didn't get as far as I would like, but that's fine. I also have NO idea how long this entire thing will end up being

Oh, and I went back and edited some of the previous chapters. I have a beta now, but she hasn't had a chance to look at this yet. I'm posting it anyway since you've been waiting so patiently.

What He Needs  
_or _  
How Kurt Hummel Finally Learned to Stop Planning His Life and Start Living it

By _Koinaka_

No, you can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
And if you try sometime you find  
You get what you need

- _You Can't Always Get What You Want, _The Rolling Stones

Chapter Eight

In retrospect, Kurt should have seen his dad's announcement coming what with Carole and Finn spending an ever increasing amount of time at their house since his father's release from the hospital—not to mention his dad's "subtle" attempts at encouraging Kurt and Finn to become friends, something that wasn't likely to ever happen—but he hadn't seen it coming at all. All he had noticed was that their presence in the house was becoming a regular occurrence.

They had been there on Thursday evening when Kurt finally dragged himself home from ballet where he had spent an inordinate amount of time with first his class and then rehearsal.

Kurt had barely had the energy to exchange more than a few polite words with Finn—which mostly consisted of Finn saying that his song had been "pretty good" although he had expected Kurt to sing some sort of show tune "like Rachel always does" before Kurt had excused himself to eat dinner. He wouldn't have spoken to Finn at all, but his dad had given him a pointed look when he attempted to ignore Finn's greeting. Afterward, as he had completed his nightly routine relying on muscle memory more than anything else and then fallen into bed, he wondered if Finn was actually _trying _to be offensive or if he was just tragically obtuse. In the end, he hadn't been sure which one he hoped was true because either way, he was still woefully ignorant.

They had been there on Friday when he returned from his vocal lesson with Sam, Jeff, and Blaine in tow for what they hoped would become their new weekly routine. The plan was to alternate houses so that they spent one Friday night a month at each of their houses.

After an awkward—and incredibly stilted—conversation with his dad and Finn, Kurt had escaped to the basement with Finn following behind him. He had most emphatically _not _wanted to have Finn tagging along with him, but he hadn't had a good reason why he couldn't. Not only that but Finn had genuinely seemed to want to hang out with him. Or Sam, Kurt couldn't truly be certain. Either way, Kurt was once again been left with no other option than to invite Finn to join him. His dad graced him with a bright smile before he and Finn went down to the basement to join his friends.

Sam was in the process of hooking up his X-Box and getting their guitars set up to play Guitar Hero while the others were lounging on Kurt's bed arguing about which version to play first when Kurt and Finn entered the basement.

Jeff's eyes lit up when he caught sight of Kurt. "Thank God you're finally here. You can decide. _I _think that we should start off with Metallica while Blaine over there thinks we should play Rocks the 80's. What do you think?"

Kurt scrunched his nose. "Eww. _Neither_. I think my ears might bleed if I have to play through either of those. Seriously." He hesitated briefly before turning to Finn. "Do you have a preference?"

"Definitely Rocks the 80s."

The five of them had spent the rest of the night playing video games—first Guitar Hero and then, later, Halo. It was when they were doing Deathmatches in Halo that Finn once again put his abnormally large foot into his mouth.

"Whoa, dude! You _rock,"_ Finn crowed after Kurt had beaten Jeff for the third time.

"You sound surprised," Kurt said, considering Finn with one lifted brow. "Why?"

Finn shrugged. "It's just… you know. I didn't think that people like you played video games."

Beside Sam, Kurt tensed. "People like me?" he asked. "You mean gay people." His voice was emotionless, flat. "And why wouldn't a gay man like to play video games?"

He shrugged again, looking helplessly at Sam for support—why was anyone's guess because Sam was definitely not going to agree with him—and finding none. "No reason," he said, finally, with a sigh.

"Is it the same reason you didn't think that Sam could be gay because he was into sports? Or that because of my vocal range and eating preferences that I am 'like a girl'?"

Finn threw his hands into the air. "That's not what I meant at all. I just meant...artsy people, y'know? People who like ballet and that Mozart stuff you were talking about before. It has nothing to do you being gay. Rachel has two gay dads, and they're totally cool. A little scary, maybe, because they're like completely overprotective of Rachel, but still totally cool."

If Kurt had not been subjected to that Karofsky boy calling him Hummel the Homo no less than three times that day, he probably wouldn't have taken such offense at Finn's statement. After all, it wasn't as if Finn was being purposely offensive. In fact, _he _probably didn't even know he _was _being offensive because Kurt was beginning to think that his previous theory of Finn being tragically obtuse was the most likely scenario.

It was just that between Karofsky's taunts—which the administration refused to punish because there was no rule against students verbally harassing one another, something that both Kurt and his father had been up in arms about—and Finn's blasé and not surprisingly heteronormative views on gender roles, Kurt was beginning to think that ignorance and homophobia was the norm and not the exception in Lima, Ohio in general and McKinley High in particular like he had previously thought. He supposed he really oughtn't be surprised—Blaine certainly didn't think he should be—but still; he couldn't help but be both surprised and incensed at Finn's assumptions even if he had tried to play it off as something else. Before, Kurt might have given him the benefit of the doubt. Now though? Well, now, he was beginning to realize just how much ignorance there was in the world—In Ohio especially.

They had also been there on Saturday evening when Kurt returned from taking Jeff and Blaine back to Dalton. He had entered the house to find Carole and his dad putting the finishing touches on dinner, Finn sitting in the living room and watching some fishing show as if this was a normal every day occurrence, and a stack of board games—_board games_—sitting on the top of the bar.

"What's all this?" he asked, his eyes flitting between the dinner preparations and the board games.

The two adults shared a significant look before Carole excused herself. His dad looked decidedly uncomfortable. The man shifted nervously from foot to foot as Kurt studied him intently.

"I was just hoping that we could spend some time together tonight. As a family. Haven't seen much of you since school started, so thought it might be nice."

"As a family?" Kurt questioned lightly.

"Yeah. I figure if it works out tonight, we can make it a weekly thing. Set aside some time to spend together. I figured Saturday night would be the best time since you have something to do every other night except for Sunday."

He cocked his head to the side. "Family night. With Carole and Finn." It wasn't a question, not really, more of a statement, but his dad treated it like a question.

"Yeah," his dad said, letting out a heavy sigh. "Look, Kurt, I've been trying to think of a way to tell you this all week—hell, I was trying to tell you since before the heart attack—but there never seemed to be a good time to do it. I've asked Carole and Finn to move in with us, and they've accepted."

"Oh." Kurt said. "How soon-?"

His dad's looked rather sheepish. "They have to be out of their house by the end of next week."

Kurt didn't say anything for several seconds. "That's…fast," he said finally.

"I suppose," he allowed. "If you think it's too fast—if you aren't comfortable with this, with them moving in—we can wait."

Kurt _wanted _to tell him that they should definitely wait because he was not comfortable with them—with Carole or Finn—living there. He was barely comfortable with living there himself. Besides, the two of them were still trying to figure out how to coexist. How could he—why would he—bring other people into the equation so soon? Not to mention the fact that their house wasn't exactly teeming with extra room. Kurt's rather large wardrobe took up nearly every available closet space as it was. Plus, there were only two actual bedrooms not including the basement—his dad's room and the room he used for his study which also happened to be where Kurt's piano was kept.

But Kurt hadn't said any of those things because whenever he began to all he could think about was the way his dad looked at Carole. "It's fine."

As if he could read his previous thoughts, his dad continued. "I have a contractor coming to give me an estimate on adding on an addition but until then I was hoping you wouldn't mind sharing the basement with Finn. Just for a little while."

"I'm not really sure that there's room in the basement for another bed," Kurt said, carefully.

His dad paused once more and seemed to steel himself for what he was about to say. "Not with your current bed, no."

Kurt sucked in a harsh breath. His current bed, as his dad called it, was his mother's bed, a beautiful four-poster bed that not only took up a great deal of room but still smelled like his mother. His chest tightened at the very thought of getting rid of it. He wouldn't—couldn't—get rid of it.

"You want me to get rid of my bed—of _her _bed?"

"Of course not," his dad said at once. "Just… put it in storage for a little while. We can get the two of you twin beds until the addition is finished."

"Fine," Kurt said, though he was far from fine at the moment. He spun on his heel to head toward the basement. He stopped when he reached the door. "You might want to make sure he doesn't mind sharing a room with _someone like me_."

Dinner was a terse affair.

Finn and his dad spent the majority of the meal talking about various things—sporting teams they both followed and games they'd seen the previous week—while Carole spent the majority of the meal attempting to draw Kurt into conversation after conversation about how he was liking McKinley.

Kurt answered almost robotically because he could not take his attention away from his dad and Finn. It was the first time that Kurt had really observed his dad and Finn interact with one another, and he was unprepared for the way it made him feel. It was almost as if they were speaking a whole other language—one that only the two of them understood. They finished one another's sentences, flowing easily from topic to topic. Kurt was incredibly jealous. Not because he had any desire to talk sports—he didn't—but because of the ease with which they interacted. It all just seemed so _easy _whereas when he and his dad talked—_when_ they talked—they had to try so hard to find things to talk about.

He didn't want to be jealous about Finn because it was just so childish, but he couldn't help but be jealous when he saw how engaged his dad was with Finn's life. He asked him question after question—how was football, how was school going, how were things with Rachel? He asked Kurt the same sort of questions, but it wasn't the same, not really, because at least with Finn, the answers were familiar to him. They were things he knew and understood. With Kurt, it was if he was speaking a foreign language. He never said that, of course, but Kurt could tell by the look his dad got on his face, like he just had no idea how to respond to that or what to think about whatever it was they were talking about.

If that wasn't bad enough, Carole had cooked some sort of pasta dish with a cream based sauce which Kurt wouldn't have eaten anyway for that reason alone, but then there was the added bonus of it being loaded with grilled chicken. Kurt suppressed a sigh and resigned himself to moving his food around on his place in an attempt to make it at least look like he had eaten something. Unfortunately, Carole had watched him closely during dinner.

"Are you feeling well? You hardly ate anything during dinner," she said once dinner was over. "I swear, Finn practically eats me out of house and home! The only time he doesn't have an appetite is when he's sick."

Her tone was cheerful and her smile bright, but neither of those things endeared her to Kurt—especially since he had already told her one other time that he was vegan.

"I'm a vegan," Kurt said.

Both Carole and his dad stared blankly at him. Kurt didn't suppress the sigh that came then. How many times would he have this same conversation?

"I don't eat meat or any animal product."

"Like Rachel," Finn chimed in helpfully.

Kurt's smile was strained. "Yes, exactly like Rachel. May I be excused? I'm not feeling very well."

He didn't bother to wait for a response or to say goodnight to either Carole or Finn. He just stood up and walked out of the room, not stopping until the basement door closed softly behind him.

When Kurt came upstairs for breakfast the next morning, he found his dad in the kitchen surrounded by piles of cut up fruit.

"I thought we could have some fruit salad for breakfast," he said when he saw Kurt's questioning gaze.

He nodded. "That would be nice. Do you need any help?"

His dad flushed and pointed to a page of printer paper that had clearly, at one point, had a recipe of some sort on it, but was now soaked through with various fruit juices, causing the ink to blur and rendering it unreadable. "I may have spilled something on the recipe."

"Not a problem," Kurt said, lightly, as he began adding each individual pile into the large mixing bowl on the counter. "It would be very difficult to mess up a fruit salad."

When all of the fruit—and it was no small amount—had been added, he grabbed a spatula and mixed it all together. No sooner had he finished did his dad hand him first one bowl to fill and then another.

"I may have gotten a little carried away with the fruit," his dad confessed a few minutes later when they were sitting comfortably at the table eating their breakfast. "I just…I wasn't sure what kind you liked."

Kurt speared a piece of pineapple. "Pretty much all fruit. Except for peaches. I've never liked peaches."

A sad look flitted across his dad's face. "Yeah, I knew that. Before your mom got pregnant with you, she used to love the things. She would eat them nearly by the bushel when they were in season. Soon as she got pregnant with you, though, she couldn't even stand to be in the same room as 'em. Used to send her running to the bathroom whenever she caught a whiff of 'em. Never tried to eat them again even after you were born."

The two of them continued their meal in silence.

Finally, his dad spoke once again. "I'm really tryin' here, kid. It's just going to take some time for us to get to know each other again."

He nodded. "I know."

His dad gave him a relieved smile. "How about I take care of these dishes and after that, we can go see what's playing down at the Cineplex?"

A bright smile spread across Kurt's face. "Sounds good. I'll just go downstairs and get ready."

If Kurt went through his morning routine—shower, skincare, hair, clothes—a little faster than usual, no one could blame him. He couldn't remember the last time that he and his father had spent time together like this, and even though they were sure to end up watching some awful action movie, he was actually excited about it.

"Sorry it took me so long," Kurt said as he breezed up the stairs and into the living room where he could hear the TV playing, "ready to…"

He came to a complete stop when he saw his dad and Finn gathered around the TV watching some football game, the words dying in his mouth.

His dad and Finn both looked up at his entrance. Kurt's eyes swept over his dad's still-pajama clad body, and then over to where Finn was sitting, before settling on the pile of snacks on the coffee table between them.

"I thought we were going to go to the movies," he said, careful to keep all traces of hurt out of his voice.

"We were—_we are_—It's just… I forgot that I told Finn that he could come over and watch the game here. They don't have cable at their house," his dad rambled. "We can go to the movies another day. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, that's fine. It's fine," he took a breath. "I think I'll just go to Sam's house for a while."

His dad beamed. "Great! And hey—now Finn can come along, and it'll give the two of you time to get to know each other."

Finn can come along.

_Finn can come along_.

Kurt just nodded. He didn't trust the steadiness of his voice enough to speak. With that, both his dad and Finn turned back to the game, neither noticing when Kurt slipped out the front door.

Sam was only mildly surprised when he answered the door to find Kurt standing there.

"So," Kurt said, brightly, "I was thinking that we should have a movie day. Whatever you want."

Another good thing about having a best friend that knew you better than anyone else was that they knew when not to push you, so even though it was obvious that something was wrong, Sam didn't even hesitate or question him. Instead he just beamed—it wasn't often Kurt gave him carte blanche when they went to the movies—and said, "I'll just grab my jacket."

* * *

Monday morning found a shaken Kurt sitting in Ms. Pillsbury's office watching as the woman in question adjusted stack after stack of pamphlets. Because Sam had a dentist appointment that afternoon and was using that as an excuse to skip a day of classes, it had been the first day that Kurt had arrived at McKinley High without Sam by his side. He had assured Sam several times the previous day that everything would be fine.

Everything had not been fine.

Perhaps that was a bit of an understatement especially considering that only half an hour ago, mere minutes after climbing out of his Navigator, he had been accosted by Karofsky and several other jocks on his way to class and tossed into a dumpster—_tossed into a dumpster, _he still couldn't believe it. He definitely couldn't believe that Figgins refused to take action because Kurt was the only witness—besides the jocks, and of course they wouldn't rat themselves out—and he couldn't take just his word on it.

"I am sorry, Mr. Hummel, but unless you have a witness to collaborate your allegation, there is nothing I can do. My hands are tied," Mr. Figgins had told him.

It was both ridiculous and infuriating. Not to mention, a complete and total lie. Since when did victims—and as much as he disliked that word and its connotations it was the only one that fit in this case—of discrimination and harassment need witnesses?

"So, Kurt, how are you adjusting to McKinley?" Ms. Pillsbury asked, finally turning her attention to him, a bright smile on her face.

"May I be honest with you?" he asked.

The guidance counselor blinked several times before nodding. "I've found that it's best to always be honest."

He took a deep breath and began. "I'm concerned by the homophobia I've encountered over the past week. I thought that schools were supposed to be safe places, but the environment here is anything but safe. In the week since my transfer, I've been hit in the face with a slushie, called vulgar names, and just this morning, I was thrown into a dumpster—all of which has been ignored by the administration."

Her eyes widened. "I'm so sorry, Kurt. Principal Figgins…doesn't always make the best decisions when it comes to disciplinary matters. What can I do to help?"

_That _was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration. Figgins had done nothing but give Kurt and his dad the runaround ever since the first—and certainly not the last—time he attempted to report the events.

The truth was that Kurt was seriously beginning to wonder if he had made a huge mistake in coming to McKinley. It wasn't just the school—although that was certainly part of it—it was his dad and everything. It would just be so much _easier _if he was back at Dalton. He could ignore the fact that his father had another family—one that he might not have a place in. At Dalton, at least, he wouldn't have to face the homophobia that seemed to be second nature to the people in Lima. It would all be _so _easy.

Only, he had had perfectly good reasons for transferring in the first place. He had wanted to spend more time with his dad, wanted them to be a family. Of course, he hadn't counted on the homophobia or the bullying that he had encountered so far, and he certainly hadn't considered the idea of his dad creating a family of his own.

His mom's words echoed in his head: _Sometimes everything will be messy and hard and nothing like what you had planned on, but that's just life. _He couldn't just run back to Dalton because things hadn't turned out like he had planned.

He might not know what he could do about his dad, but he knew there was something he could do about the homophobia and bullying—at least he hoped there was.

"I would like to start a Gay-Straight Alliance at McKinley. The only way to combat ignorance that I've come across since my transfer is through education."

She nodded. "I agree. Well, the good thing is that it's a fairly easy process to start a student organization. All you need is at least two other students willing to join and a faculty advisor. Once you have those, we can just fill out the paperwork. Getting funding, on the other hand… Figgins tends to be quite tight-fisted with that, so you might have some difficulty getting him to agree to fund the club."

"That," Kurt said smoothly, "won't be a problem. About the faculty advisor, though, I was wondering if _you _would agree to advise the group."

Ms. Pillsbury was so shocked that she didn't answer right away. "Yes, of course, I will."

"Thanks. I'll be back when I've found two other students to join." Kurt stood up and shouldered his bag while Ms. Pillsbury wrote him a late pass. When she was finished, he ducked out of her office and headed to his first period class in a much better mood than before.

He was a man with a mission. All day long, while he _should _have been paying attention in his classes, he was busy jotting plans down in his notebook. He was, simply put, in his element. Not only did he think that a Gay-Straight Alliance was something that McKinley was in desperate need of, but it was an organization that he had put a lot of time and energy into at Dalton. Coordinating events with Westerville's chapter of PFLAG, volunteering for the Trevor Project, fundraising for both the Trevor Project and Make it Better with his friends, all of it had meant a lot to him. More than that, it made a difference. Not just to him, but to others as well. It would make a difference at McKinley too because, statistically speaking, it was nearly impossible for him to be the only gay person there, but if this was the way they could expect to be treated, no one else would ever take the risk of coming out.

He just needed people to join. Sam would join; Kurt knew that, so they only needed one more person. And Kurt knew _just _who he wanted to ask—even if it would end up being a rather painful—for him—experience considering their, albeit short, history.

Rachel Berry.

The girl who had proclaimed that she had "two gay dads" would definitely join. Not only would she join, but he was pretty sure that her dads would help out as well. Kurt didn't need much help, but he would need someone who could connect him with the closest chapter of PFLAG.

They didn't have any classes together, and since she never came to lunch—when he'd asked, the others had mumbled something about the choir room, but their terrified looks had been enough of a deterrent for him to not seek her out there, even for such a good cause—he was forced to wait until glee to talk to her.

He hadn't been surprised in the least to discover she was the first person to arrive for glee, nor was he surprised that she was talking animatedly about some song she wanted to sing with Mr. Schuester.

He waited until there was a lull in the conversation before approaching her. "Rachel, may I speak with you?"

She eyed him suspiciously but finally nodded. Mr. Schuester, looking relieved, took the opportunity to slink away from the two of them.

"I know we didn't get off to the best start, but I'm trying to start up a Gay-Straight Alliance, and I was wondering if you would be willing to help."

Her face lit up. "Yes! As the daughter of two gay dads, I am a strong supporter of gay rights. I have often thought that McKinley would benefit immensely from a Gay-Straight Alliance because ignorance is rampant here, especially in regards to the gay and lesbian community. The bigotry my dads face on a daily basis is, quite frankly, astonishing. Unfortunately, in the past, all of my attempts have been thwarted due to the need for there to be at least three students involved in any student organization. I do hope you have taken that into consideration."

Kurt just stared at her, mouth open, for several seconds. The girl had barely taken a breath during that entire speech. He ignored the majority of her speech and simply continued on as planned. "Great because I wondered if it might be possible for me to meet with your dads. I need to get connected to the closest PFLAG chapter, and I was hoping they would be willing to help."

She paused for a second. "Are you free for dinner tonight? I know it's rather short notice, but I know that typically the only night they're both free is Monday nights."

"Tonight would be perfect. I have my vocal lesson, but I should be back in Lima by seven at the latest."

"Perfect. I'll give you a detailed map to my house before the end of glee. This is just wonderful! I have so many ideas," Rachel said, practically pulling him into the empty chair beside her. She was still in the process of going into great detail about her ideas when Mr. Schuester called the club to order ten minutes later.

That was when Kurt noticed the word written on the whiteboard behind Mr. Schuester.

_Duets _

A smile spread across Kurt's face as Mr. Schuester explained what he had planned for the club for that week's "assignment." He may have been a bit nervous before singing last time—why, he still wasn't sure—but if there was one thing that Kurt loved it was performing, and that was just what Mr. Schuester had in mind. He wanted the group to pair up and compete against one another for a free trip to Breadstix.

Kurt knew just the thing to do, too. All he had to do was get Sam to agree to do it. He didn't really care about the trip to Breadstix. He just missed singing and choreographing for fun, and this competition was bound to be loads of fun.

When glee was over, Rachel picked up exactly where she had left off before club started. Finn gave him a curious, if somewhat relieved look, as the three of them made their way to the parking lot, Rachel talking all the while. They departed once they reached his Navigator, but not before he and Rachel exchanged cell phone numbers, and she sent him a _very _detailed map to her house, a map that he didn't even need because all he'd done was program her address into his GPS since he was awful at both directions and reading maps. He always managed to get himself turned around somehow. Sam said it was a gift.

After a brief stop by his house to pick up the folder where he kept all of his GSA related paperwork and information about the events that Dalton's GSA had held the previous year and to tell his dad that he was having dinner with Rachel, he made the hour's drive to Dalton.

By the time he arrived for his, he was in a much better mood. He spent the entire hour with Arthur working on "Delizie, contenti." He couldn't believe he had ever considered _not _doing this song. He'd never seen _Giasone_ or listened to any of it besides that one song before choosing it, but he loved the haunted quality the song had, loved the way he sounded when he sang it, loved the violin accompaniment—he would have to get one for his official recording—loved _everything _about it. Arthur had definitely been right in telling him to give it a chance. He had been so absorbed in the music that he hadn't even noticed that they had gone past their allotted time until Arthur pointed it out.

Blaine was leaning against the wall across from the music room where he had his lessons, wide-eyed, when Kurt walked out the music room door.

He stopped mid-step when he saw him. "Blaine! Hi. What are you doing here?"

Blaine blushed. "I thought I would just wait for you, see how your lessons were going, but I don't need to ask. You sounded…well, to be honest, Kurt, you sounded amazing. I had no idea you could sing like _that_."

Now it was Kurt who blushed. "Thank you. It's a lot of hard work—learning a different technique, you know—but it's worth it, I think. And my voice is rather suited for it, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," Blaine answered almost immediately. "I've only been to the opera once with my mom, but you just… wow."

"When the season starts up again, you should come with me. My grandparents and I have season passes, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind letting you to use one of the tickets. My grandmother hates going, so I know she'd be willing," he said, leaning against the wall beside Blaine.

"I should—"

"Do you want to go—"

They both started to speak at the same time. Kurt laughed. "You go first."

"Want to go grab some coffee and catch up? I feel like we haven't talked in forever."

"Oh," he said, frowning. "I can't. I'm starting a GSA at McKinley, and I'm meeting with Rachel and her dads to see if they would be willing to help. I'm sorry. How about…" he struggled for a minute to think of a time they could meet up. "Wednesday? Before my vocal lesson?"

Blaine sighed. "I can't. Rehearsal."

Kurt tried not to let his disappointment show. "I guess I'll just see you on Friday. Sam said he would host this week, but we have to go to his football game first. You don't mind, do you?"

"No way!" he said with a grin. "I love football, you know that. Besides, I've never seen Sam play before. It'll be fun."

"Great, well, I'll see you on Friday."

"Friday," Blaine confirmed. Then he did something that he hadn't done in a while. He pulled Kurt into a hug, holding him for longer than was strictly necessary, his breath tickling Kurt's ear. Before Kurt even had a chance to react, he was gone, disappearing down the corridor leading to the dormitories.

Kurt stood there for a moment, staring at the empty corridor until he was shaken out of his stupor by his phone alerting him to a new text message. With a sigh, he headed to his car, replying to Sam's text of: _Dinner at Rachel's house, have you lost your mind? w_ith a simple: _Explain later _as he went.

During the ride to Rachel's house, Kurt pointedly did not think about Blaine or his odd behavior. He had more than enough on his plate without that peculiarity to worry about. Tomorrow, if he thought of it again—most likely _when_, not if—he would talk to Sam about it. Instead he turned on the soundtrack for _Annie, Get Your Gun_ and listened to that all the way back to Lima, choreographing the duet in his head as he went.

As it turned out, only one of Rachel's dads, Hiram was able to make it to dinner. Her other dad, Leroy, was a police officer and was working a different shift than normal.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel said when she met him at the door. "But Daddy will still help us. I've been telling him about our plans. He is just thrilled, and I must agree with him. It is time for McKinley to recognize their prejudice for what it is: ignorance."

Rachel led him through an immaculate hallway into the dining room where a fairly small dark-haired man was waiting for them. When he saw Kurt, he smiled widely. "You must be Kurt. Rachel's been talking about you all afternoon."

Kurt could feel his cheeks heat up. "Sorry I'm a bit late," he said. "My vocal lesson ran longer than expected."

Hiram chuckled. "No need to apologize. These things happen, believe me, I know from personal experience. If I had a quarter for every minute I used to spend waiting on Rachel _after _herlessons, I wouldn't have to work another day in my life. Why don't you take a seat? Dinner'll be done in a few minutes."

Kurt sat down across from Rachel, clutching his satchel in his lap.

"Who is your vocal instructor?" Rachel asked. "I've been looking around for another. My last instructor and I split due to creative differences."

He wondered what the story behind that was—no doubt there _was _a story—but he was almost afraid to ask. "Arthur Giordano," he replied instead.

Rachel's eyes widened slightly in surprise indicating she knew who Arthur Giordano was. Not many, outside of the classical music circuit anyway, did, so that was pretty surprising. "How is he as an instructor?"

Before Kurt could answer, however, Hiram was back, announcing that dinner was ready. No one would have been more surprised than Kurt to discover that Rachel Berry could actually be pleasant. His only explanation was that she was simply different around her family. Not only was she not as abrasive, but she didn't seem to feel the need to prove something. Conversation was light and mostly involved Rachel's school day and how it had gone. It was a familiar scenario for Kurt as it reminded him so much of the conversations that he and his mom used to have. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even realize Rachel was speaking to him until she tugged on his shirt.

"Finn says that his mom and your dad are moving in together," she said. "I think it's wonderful that they have found love."

"Wonderful," Kurt echoed weakly, a lump forming in the put of his belly. He had almost—_almost_—forgotten about that.

"Finn's looking forward to it. He's never had a father growing up, and spending time with your dad has obviously meant a lot to him. I'm sure you feel the same way about Carole—"

He cut her off there, as politely as he could considering the circumstances. "I'm sure that I don't. I have a mother."

Rachel looked so confused that Kurt almost felt sorry for her. "But I thought—Finn said…"

"She is dead, but that doesn't mean I need—or want—another."

There was silence for a minute, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hiram and Rachel exchange a look. She took a deep breath before continuing, brightly, "Well, you must be excited about gaining a brother at least. I know from personal experience that being an only child can be a very lonely existence."

Kurt suppressed a sigh. Perhaps he had spoken too soon about Rachel being pleasant. Luckily, Hiram seemed to pick up on Kurt's frustration because he changed the subject.

"Rachel says that you take ballet as well."

Kurt looked at Rachel with a note of surprise. She certainly _had _talked about him a great deal, hadn't she?

"Yes. Since I was four."

"I've had to stop taking lessons since I joined glee club. It's a sacrifice, of course, but one that I was willing to make. Music is my passion, and since I have no intention of pursing ballet in the future, it just seemed silly to continue." She paused and eyed Kurt shrewdly. "Do you intend to pursue a future in ballet?"

It wasn't the first time that someone had asked him directly, and just like the other times, Kurt found himself hard pressed to answer. He adored ballet—loved it—but he loved singing as well. He truly didn't want to have to choose one over the other. A tiny voice in his head told him that he had already made the decision because he hadn't even thought about applying to dance programs, but the only reason he hadn't was because he wasn't sure if he was good enough _to _apply.

Once again, Hiram stepped in. "He's still young, Rachel—you're both still young—no need to make that decision now. You still have plenty of time."

Rachel protested at once, and the rest of dinner was spent listening to her talk about how she fully intended to fulfill her destiny of becoming a Broadway sensation.

After the dinner dishes were cleared away, Hiram brought up the GSA.

"I think it's just great that you're starting a Gay-Straight Alliance at McKinley. I went to McKinley back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth, and believe me, it was not the friendliest place even back then, and considering the kinds of things that Rachel goes through _now_—whoever heard of slushies to the face?—We may have had our share of troubles back then, but what they allow to go on in schools today, well, it's just barbaric. I would be glad to help you in any way that I can."

Kurt smiled as he realized exactly where Rachel got her loquaciousness from. "I was very active in the GSA at my old school—I was the secretary both this year and the year before—so I don't need much help in the way of that from you. What I need is someone to act as our go between with PFLAG so that we can coordinate events with them."

He pulled his folder out of his satchel and slid it over to Rachel. "I brought this in case you wanted to take a look at the kinds of things we did at Dalton. I don't imagine that we'll be able to do quite the same things as I really doubt we'll have even a fraction of the student support needed, but every little bit helps"

The next few minutes was spent in a relative silence as both Rachel and Hiram looked through the folder.

"Your father must be extremely supportive of you," Hiram said, quietly, a few minutes later, looking down at a picture of Kurt and his dad alongside the other GSA member's at last year's Columbus Pride. The look on his face gave Kurt the impression that perhaps his parents hadn't been so supportive.

"He is," Kurt had to admit. Even if his dad didn't always understand him, he always supported him.

Rachel took a hold of her dad's hand before turning to Kurt. The look on her face was nearly unreadable, but something told Kurt that this right here was the real Rachel Berry. "I know that I… apologized… before, but I just wanted to apologize once more. I wasn't very welcoming at all last week, and there's no excuse for it." She paused. "I'm not always the easiest person to be around, so I don't have many friends. It just—it really means a lot to me that you're giving me the opportunity to be a part of this. I think that, if we work hard, we might really be able to make a difference."

He was so taken aback by her sincerity that he didn't speak at first. There were still things about Rachel that he didn't really care for, but he thought that, given enough time, they might one day be friends. "I hope we do."

* * *

Sam was waiting for him the next morning when he pulled into his driveway, a determined look on his face.

Both Sam and his dad had been livid when he told them about the dumpster incident, his dad especially. It had taken Kurt promising to speak to his grandfather about the escalating situation—a conversation he was _not _looking forward to, especially considering that he had promised his grandfather that there wouldn't be any problems at McKinley—before is dad would calm down, and even then, he said he was going to speak to Principal Figgins himself.

Kurt hadn't wanted to tell Sam at all, and he had only done so after getting Sam to promise not to do anything rash—which definitely included him not picking a fight with the much larger Karofsky. In exchange, Sam had vowed to walk Kurt back and forth to every class which wasn't the least bit ridiculous at all. Only it completely was.

"I can't believe he did that! The _one _day I'm not there to protect you, he pulls something like that. No way am I going to let him get away with this," Sam said the moment he had his seatbelt on.

Kurt's eyes narrowed until they were little more than slits. "We already talked about this, Sammy. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know. Not that it should be required for me to _protect _myself at school of all places, anyway, but… Plus, you promised not to start anything with him. Violence won't solve anything." He sighed. "And it's not like you can be with me every minute of every day."

Sam's attitude turned sulky. "Well, what am I supposed to do then? Just sit back and let him do whatever the hell he wants to do?"

"No, you can help me by joining the Gay-Straight Alliance I'm forming. I spoke with Ms. Pillsbury yesterday, and she's agreed to be the faculty adviser."

"Yeah, you know I'll join. I was in Dalton's, wasn't I? I don't think it'll help with Karofsky, but I'll join." He frowned. "Wait a minute! That's why you went to Rachel's house, wasn't it? After what she did—"

Kurt cut him off with a look. "It's in the past. She and I talked about it last night, and she gave me a proper apology. I haven't deluded myself into thinking that it is going to be easy working with her, but I do think that, out of everyone else at McKinley, this means the most to her."

At that, Sam deflated. "Yeah, okay. So, you said something about a duet competition?"

Thankful for a change in subject, Kurt smiled. "Yes! Mr. Schuester said it was to encourage camaraderie or something. Honestly, I was a bit distracted, so I wasn't paying as much attention to him as I should. I think it'll be fun though."

"You? Not paying attention? For shame!" Sam teased with a smile of his own. It was strained but there nonetheless.

"I know. You'll be my partner, right?" He gave his friend a hopeful look.

Sam groaned at the sight. "Ugh, _yes_, but nothing too crazy, okay? _And _I get final approval on costumes."

"Done and done!"

The morning dragged on at a ridiculously slow pace. The upcoming duet competition was all any of the other glee kids could talk about. Mike and Tina argued about whether or not to compete at all while Artie alternated between shooting longing glances at Tina and angry looks at Mike. All the while, Sam kept up his promise of appearing outside of every one of his classes.

"Don't even ask," he said to Artie after Sam left to go to his own second period. "I've told him that it's not necessary, but I think he blames himself for yesterday."

"Did you really charge into Principal Figgins office covered in garbage?" he asked.

"Not covered in garbage, but yes, I did."

"And before?" he asked. "When you were slushied? Tina said you went to his office still dripping with cherry slushie."

"That is true. I did. Not that it did me any good. Look, you may be used to it—Tina said you get used to it after a while, at least—but I refuse to. I shouldn't have to," Kurt hesitated and looked down at Artie. "_No one _should have to. The way I see it is if enough people start complaining, maybe something will change."

To that, Artie had no reply, but Kurt thought that he looked slightly impressed. He didn't understand why, really, because the entire thing should have been common sense—common decency—but obviously McKinley was low on both sense and decency.

Sam and Kurt met Rachel at the choir room during lunch, and the three of them went to Ms. Pillsbury's office. It didn't take very long for them to complete the paperwork. In fact, it took longer for them to get Rachel _out _of the office than the paperwork took. Before they could head back to lunch, Ms. Pillsbury asked Kurt to stay behind.

Sam looked like he was going to stay behind as well, but thankfully Rachel put a stop to that by grabbing Sam's hand and practically dragging him to the cafeteria so she could  
fill him in on all of her ideas for the club.

"I won't keep you long," Ms. Pillsbury said. "One of McKinley's students was recently placed in Juvenile Hall. The judge has agreed to let him return to McKinley High with the stipulation that he perform thirty hours of community service as well along with his eighteen months of probation. Due to this particular student's behavior in the past, I think it would be beneficial for him to serve his community service working with the Gay-Straight Alliance. I just wanted to speak to you before making a formal recommendation, and make sure that you were comfortable with the idea."

"That's fine," Kurt agreed easily. He had a feeling he already knew the student in question. How many other McKinley High students could there be in Juvenile Hall? "The student wouldn't happen to be Noah Puckerman, would it?"

"Oh!" she said, surprised.

"Mr. Schuester told us last week in glee, but I met Noah before I transferred," Kurt explained.

She looked incredibly relieved. "That's great! Since you already know one another, you should have no trouble working together."

Kurt didn't know about _that_. They'd only spent a brief period of time together, and Noah Puckerman had been completely rude to him. Not only had he been rude to him, but then he told Rachel that Kurt knew Jesse St. James. Well, the last part could have been simply a coincidence, but still…The fact that he was ridiculously attractive was completely irrelevant.

It was.

"I look forward to it," he said.

"Great. We'll speak again once everything has been finalized."

Kurt nodded and hurried out of the office, his mind buzzing with thoughts that had absolutely nothing to do with either Noah Puckerman or Blaine Anderson.


	9. Chapter 9

I cannot apologize enough for the ridiculous amount of time you've had to wait for this. I've been so completely stuck on it forever. It's a nice and long chapter though, if that's any consolation, and I think that the writer's block is done with.

What He Needs  
_or _  
How Kurt Hummel Finally Learned to Stop Planning His Life and Start Living it

By _Koinaka_

No, you can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
You can't always get what you want  
And if you try sometime you find  
You get what you need

- _You Can't Always Get What You Want, _The Rolling Stones

Chapter Nine

Kurt had known that it was only a matter of time before he had to have this conversation with his grandfather, but he had hoped that it would be under much better circumstances. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be possible. Even if his dad hadn't insisted on Kurt telling his grandfather about what had been going, he still would have since he wanted to seek legal action against the school.

When Kurt arrived at school on Wednesday morning, he had tried to be tentatively optimistic. Not only did he have a stack of fliers to hand out promoting the GSA, but he had the upcoming duet competition to look forward to. He and Sam had spent several hours the previous afternoon working on their duet, and he thought they had a really good chance at winning.

"Rachel and Finn will be our only real competition," Sam had told him when they were finished practicing for the day. "I mean, I don't know who else will compete, so I guess there could be more. Only I've never actually heard Mike or Brittany sing before. Tina's okay, but her voice isn't very strong. Mercedes is pretty good, but her style is completely different than yours or Rachel's. So, yeah, they'll be our biggest problem."

Kurt wasn't worried at all. Their song was great, and even though their choreography was fairly simple—Kurt had kept it as close to the original as he could—he knew that it was great as well.

His tentative optimism evaporated when he got called into Ms. Pillsbury's office during lunch.

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon," he said after sitting down in one of the chairs in front of her desk. "I've got some fliers to pass out, but I wanted to get your approval before I started putting them up."

That was when he noticed her frown.

"I turned in the paperwork for the Gay-Straight Alliance to Principal Figgins this morning, and I'm sorry to say that he won't give his approval."

Kurt stared at her for a moment. "Is it because of the funding? Because if it is, I told you that I didn't need the school to fund anything. The money isn't a problem. I don't like to talk about it, but I have a trust fund, and I am more than willing to cover whatever expenses we may incur. It shouldn't be too much anyway. At Dalton, we covered a lot of our expenses by fundraisers and donations, and I'm sure that once we have more support, I'll be able to do the same here."

"It's not that simple," Ms. Pillsbury said, her frown growing more pronounced. "Principal Figgins feels that a Gay-Straight Alliance would be detrimental to the student body."

"He—_what_? How could it be detrimental to the student body?"

She sighed. "He says that a school is not the place to discuss student sexuality."

"That's completely unfair!" Kurt exclaimed. "If the school isn't a place to discuss student sexuality, explain to me why he gave his approval for the Celibacy Club."

"I'm afraid that I can't, and without his approval, there's not much I can do. I'm so sorry, Kurt."

He slumped back against the chair. "It all comes down to homophobia. Even the faculty is guilty of it." A determined look settled on his face. "Are you still willing to be the faculty adviser?"

"I don't think Principal Figgins is going to change his mind, Kurt," she said reluctantly.

"Maybe not," he allowed. "But if he does, are you still willing?"

She studied Kurt for several moments. "Yes, if he changes his mind, I would love to work with you."

Kurt stood and walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned back to the guidance counselor. "What will happen to Noah Puckerman?"

He would be lying if he said that he hadn't been looking forward to seeing the other boy again, however rude he may have been before, and he definitely had been rude before.

"He'll stay in Juvenile Hall until he can find another community service project," she said slowly. "I'll start looking right away, but he'll have to be put on a waiting list until something else comes up."

Kurt frowned. That didn't seem fair. He wasn't sure what the boy had done to get put into Juvenile Hall in the first place, but it couldn't have been that bad. He and Sam were friends, after all, and Kurt didn't think Sam would be friends with a delinquent. According to Sam, he had gone through a rough patch the past year with little support from the faculty or his family. None of the glee kids—his supposed friends—had even seemed worried about him being in Juvenile Hall.

"I'm not sure what the proper procedure here is, but I think that I could help with that. I'm in contact with a number of organizations that would be willing to work with him if I gave him a recommendation. Westerville's chapter of the Trevor Project is always looking for volunteers. I have to go by there this afternoon for a vocal lesson, so I could stop by and talk to the volunteer coordinator."

Ms. Pillsbury looked torn. "You do understand that I'm not asking you to do this, right? I don't want you to feel like you have to continue to help Noah. I mean, I think it's wonderful that you're willing to, of course, but it's not necessary."

"I don't mind, really. I'll just give you Jeremy's—he's the volunteer coordinator—information, so you can contact him, and then I'll go by this afternoon. It's a win-win situation. The Trevor Project is one of my favorite organizations, and like I said, they are always in need of volunteers."

He took a piece of paper from his satchel and wrote the information down before sliding it across the desk.

Ms. Pillsbury took the proffered paper with a strange look on her face. "Thank you," she said.

She sounded so surprised by his offer of help that Kurt was taken aback. He was only doing what any decent person would do, wasn't he? If this had been Dalton, any number of people would have been willing to help—any number of people _had _done similar things in the past albeit not with their own peers, but Kurt could give several examples of his friends and classmates using their contacts to help someone out. This wasn't any different than that.

As he headed towards the cafeteria, he came across a flier advertising both the Celibacy Club and Christ's Crusaders. How could Principal Figgins allow the formation of religious student organizations, but then say that school wasn't a place to discuss student sexuality? Public school definitely wasn't a place to discuss religious matters; at least Kurt didn't think it was. The problem was that since Kurt hadn't attended a public school before, he wasn't very familiar with their policies, so he had no idea whether or not Figgins could legally discriminate against Kurt and the GSA. He snatched the flier off the wall before going to the school's library. That was about to change

A quick Google search told him everything he needed to know. Principal Figgins may not _like _the idea of a GSA, but under the Equal Access Act, he had no legal basis for not allowing one at McKinley High.

Kurt went straight from the library to the principal's office. This was beginning to be a nearly daily occurrence, something he could tell displeased both Figgins and his secretary as the moment the woman saw Kurt her look turned sour.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Hummel. Principal Figgins thought he might be seeing you. Go on in."

Kurt went in, but Figgins barely gave him time to enter the room properly before he began speaking in a weary tone. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Ms. Pillsbury, Mr. Hummel. I don't think that school is the proper forum to discuss sexuality."

"And yet McKinley has a thriving Celibacy Club," Kurt said, sliding the folded up flier across the desk.

Surprise flitted across the man's face, but he did not back down. "That's different."

"Not according to the Equal Access Act," Kurt countered.

Figgins's lips settled into a thin line. "I'm afraid my decision is final."

Kurt knew a dismissal when he heard one, so he didn't bother pressing the matter further. What use would it be anyway? In the short time he had been at McKinley High, the administration had proven itself to be beyond useless. If he wanted things to change—and he absolutely did because there was no reason for things to be the way they were—he would have to play hard ball, so to speak. It was more than a little frightening because he knew it would draw a lot of attention on himself, but he couldn't just ignore the things that had happened to him because if he did, he'd only be telling everyone around him that what the bullies—both faculty and student alike—were doing was okay, and it definitely was not okay.

So while it might be easier to just ignore the things that were going on around him, to allow himself to become as desensitized like the other students, he just couldn't do that. He had to fight back, and in order to do that, he would have to utilize all of the tools at his disposal. Namely his grandfather.

He opened the door to leave but before he did, he turned back to the principal. "I think it's only fair to warn you that you'll be hearing from my attorney. While I understand that you are only doing what you think is best for the school, I don't understand the blatant discrimination nor do I intend to ignore it."

He stayed long enough to see the worry on the principal's face but then slipped out the open door, passing a blonde-haired woman wearing a track suit as he did.

Lunch was nearly over, but he still had enough time to send his grandfather an e-mail detailing both the current situation and what had been happening so far. An e-mail may seem like such an impersonal thing, but it was often the best way to contact his grandfather who sometimes spent more time abroad than he did at home. With this, at least, luck seemed to be on his side because it didn't take long for his phone to beep indicating that he had received a new e-mail from his grandfather. The e-mail was fairly short, but it said enough. His grandfather had business at Dalton this afternoon—which likely meant a meeting with the Headmaster as they were friends—so he would meet Kurt at their normal spot at 4.

On one hand, Kurt felt almost relieved about having his grandfather's help, but on the other hand, he thought the entire thing would only go to prove his grandfather right about him leaving Dalton. Not that he thought his grandfather would insist on him transferring back—and even if he did, his dad wouldn't stand for it, nor would he—but Kurt didn't want him to think that he couldn't handle things for himself.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked when they met up after classes were over for the day. "You've been pretty quiet ever since Ms. Pillsbury called you into her office."

Kurt gave him a strained smile. "I'm just really tired. I think I'll skip glee today, so I can nap before my vocal lesson. Do you mind covering for me?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Sam said before pausing. "I'm sorry about the GSA. I know you must be disappointed, but maybe he'll change his mind."

"Maybe," Kurt echoed. Either he would change his mind, or things were going to get very messy. Either way, there _was _going to be a GSA at McKinley. He would have to fill Sam in on his plan, but this wasn't the time or the place. Not with all of the people lingering in the hallway. "I'll come by after ballet tonight so we can run through the duet a few more times. You sure you'll be ready to perform tomorrow?"

Sam nodded. "Definitely. It's you that I'm worried about."

"Me? I'm fine."

"Yeah?" Sam's tone was skeptical.

Kurt sighed. His best friend knew him all too well. "I'll be fine, I promise. Do you think you could talk to Rachel for me? Tell her about the GSA? I've got a plan, so she shouldn't worry, but I know that she'll want to know what's going on."

"Don't you always?" Sam quipped with a grin. "But yeah, I'll talk to her. Now, come on, I'll walk you out."

He wanted to protest—he didn't need protection after all—but after the day he'd had, he could use the few minutes of normalcy that walking with Sam would afford him—especially before leaving for Dalton.

He would have had a bit of time in between school and his lesson, but since his grandfather wanted to meet him at 4, he would have to go straight to Dalton. He felt a little uneasy about talking to his grandfather before talking to his dad—almost as if he was going behind his back, something he knew that his dad wouldn't like—but there wasn't any time. Plus his dad hadn't exactly been the biggest supporter of the GSA to begin with.

"So, Finn tells me that you and Rachel are starting up one of those Gay-Straight Alliance things," he had said, casually, the previous night over dinner.

Finn and Carole were eating with them once again. They had been there when Kurt got home from ballet, and they hadn't been alone—they'd come bringing several boxes marked KITCHEN and LIVING ROOM with them. He supposed that he would have to get used to it, but was it too much to ask for one meal with just his dad?

Kurt nodded. "Yes, well, I think that education is the key to countering the homophobia at McKinley."

"And you don't think that starting this club might just bring more attention on you than you already have?"

"It might," he allowed, not liking the direction this conversation was taking, "but I don't really mind. Not if it means I have the opportunity to educate just one person or to give someone a place they can truly be themselves."

That was when Finn had interjected. "Why does McKinley even need a Gay-Straight club in the first place? Aren't you the only… y'know… gay person there?"

Kurt wouldn't have even answered the question only Finn didn't seem to be the only one thinking if the look his dad was giving him was any indication. "I highly doubt that. Even if I'm the only one out, there has to be, statistically speaking, at least a couple of others."

Finn looked like he was about to open his mouth to protest, so Kurt quickly continued, turning his attention to his dad. "You never cared that I was active in the GSA at Dalton. Why is this any different?"

The question was directed towards his dad, but once again it was Finn who answered. "Look, dude, I'm not sure how things were at your old school, but things are different at McKinley. You can't just… be whatever you want to be. I've already gotten a lot of flak just for defending you against Karofsky the other day. If you do this, it's just going to be way worse."

"For you," Kurt said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Worse for you, you mean. If I start the Gay-Straight Alliance, things are going to get worse for you."

"Well, yeah."

Kurt's eyes flitted over to his father, and he waited for him to say something—to say anything—but he didn't, so he finally took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice wavered ever so slightly. "I'm sorry that you feel that way, but I'm not going to pretend to be something that I'm not just so things will be easier for you. You're right, though—things _are _different here at McKinley, but they shouldn't be."

His dad finally interjected. "We're not trying to say you should pretend to be something you're not. We're just saying that maybe you're trying to rock the boat a little too much."

"What happened to 'No one pushes the Hummels around?'" Kurt tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice but wasn't quite as successful as he would have liked.

"No one does, Kurt, but Finn explained the slushie thing to me. He said that the glee kids always get slushied. It's a social status thing, not a homophobic thing—"

"And the slurs? The jocks calling me Hummel the Homo, is that another social status thing? Being _thrown _into a dumpster this morning—while Finn and several other football players who happen to be in glee—watched is what? Just the way things go? Because I'm not one of the 'popular kids,' I should just expect to be treated that way? I mean, that's what the administration seems to think seeing as they ignore all of it even when they're witness to it themselves, so obviously that's how things ought to be, right?"

His dad had turned to Finn, then, with an unhappy look on his face. "You _what_? Throwing slushies around is one thing—and I'm not too happy about it either but I remember what high school was like—but throwing kids into dumpsters, Finn?"

Finn flushed. "It's just one of those things that the football team does. You know how it is…" he trailed off.

"I could have been seriously injured," Kurt said after a minute. "If I had landed the wrong way, I could have broken a bone. If I had landed on, let's say, a piece of glass, well, who knows what would have happened then? I don't think it's asking too much or rocking the boat too much to have a safe environment at school. I had hoped for some support from my father, but I wasn't asking for permission."

With that, Kurt pushed his mostly uneaten food away from the table and headed down to the basement. It didn't take long for his dad to join him, the shifting mattress the only indication he was no longer alone.

"You didn't tell me about the dumpster," his dad said.

"Not yet. I was going to, but I had to practice for my duet and then I had ballet. There just wasn't time. What could you have done about it anyway? Principal Figgins says that without witnesses—that aren't me because apparently I don't count—he can't do anything. Or he won't."

His dad sighed, heavily, and dropped a heavy hand on Kurt's shoulder. "And you really think this Gay-Straight Alliance will help?"

"I hope it will."

"Then I think you should do it," he said. "But I also think that maybe it's time to talk to your grandfather about what's going on. I'm going to give Figgins a piece of my mind tomorrow, but we could use all the help we can get."

They sat there together for a while longer before his dad stood up to head back upstairs. Kurt stopped him at the staircase. "I understand that you love Carole and wish to build a future with her, but I'm uncomfortable with the idea of sharing a room with Finn. Out in the world, I have to expect a certain amount of homophobia. I shouldn't have to worry about that at home," Kurt took a deep breath. "Not from Finn and especially not from my father."

His dad's eyes widened. "I didn't—I would _never_!" He protested at once.

"It wasn't what you said, Dad, but what you _didn't _say. Finn must have told you about the Gay-Straight Alliance with the express purpose of hoping you would dissuade me from forming it because it would make things worse for him—being known as the boy whose mom is dating Hummel the Homo's dad is apparently toxic to his popularity—and instead of supporting me, or at the very least hearing me out, you sided with him. Not only that but you implied that just by being myself I was 'rocking the boat.'"

His dad looked stricken. "Kurt, buddy, you gotta know that I don't think that. I think you got as much right to love who you love as anyone else does."

Kurt nodded. "I do, but I also know that both times you've been faced with the options to choose between me and Finn, you've chosen him. I get it—he's the son you would have preferred. He's popular, into things that you understand and like, straight, and I'm me—"

He would have continued but his dad cut him off. "_You _are my son, Kurt. Not Finn. I'm sorry that I ever made you think otherwise. I'll clear out my office so that Finn can stay there until the addition is finished."

He wrapped Kurt up in his arms. "Love you, kid."

His dad had supported him in the end, but Kurt couldn't get rid of the feeling that he would have much rather Kurt not get involved in any of this, and he definitely knew that his dad would be unhappy with him involving his grandfather, but what could he do?

Kurt was meeting his grandfather at the small coffee shop near Dalton. He was a little late, but he'd stopped by the Trevor Project's office, and Jeremy was a bit of a chatter mouth, so it had taken a few minutes to get away from him. His opinion of Ms. Pillsbury raised even more when he discovered that she had called right after their earlier meeting to get everything started.

"I've already talked to both Noah and his probation officer," Jeremy said before leaving. "I was hoping you would stop by because I have a rather large favor to ask you."

"Oh?"

Jeremy nodded. "You see, there's a slight problem. Having another volunteer would be wonderful, but I simply don't have anyone available to train him. I was wondering if you would be willing to do so."

Kurt thought of the multitude of things he had to do. He wasn't sure he could juggle one more thing, but he had put in the good word—so to speak—for the other boy, so it would be awful for Kurt to say no now.

"Of course," he replied. "Just say when."

"Wonderful! He's being released tomorrow, but I thought you could come in on Saturday morning and show him the ropes."

"I'll see you then."

He stopped at the counter to order his drink—a nonfat soy chai latte—before sitting down across from him. They exchanged pleasantries for several minutes before his grandfather brought up McKinley.

"I've read through the Equal Access Act, Kurt, and you are quite right. Legally, he can't discriminate against your Gay-Straight Alliance so long as there is at least one non-curriculum student-led organization simply because he doesn't feel that the school is the proper forum to discuss student sexuality, and when you take into an account that the other club in question, the Chastity Club, was formed with the express intention of discussing student sexuality? Well, he has no reason—legally—not to allow the club," he paused for a moment. "However, he would be well within his rights to forbid the formation of the club if he thinks that it would interfere with order within the school."

"I don't see how it would interfere any more than slushies being thrown in the hallways or any of the other number of things that go on there," Kurt said.

His grandfather sighed and ran a hand through his short hair.

To some people, Charles Prevot probably seemed incredibly intimidating. He was, after all, known for being particular ruthless in his business practices as well as being a staunch supporter of the arts and the gay rights movement in America—something that surprised a number of people as the Prevot family prior to his grandfather had been considerably conservative—but he didn't seem that way to Kurt. Of course, Kurt worried about disappointing him, and he had worried about how his grandfather would feel about him leaving Dalton especially as Dalton was his alma mater, but he didn't worry because he felt intimidated. He worried because he loved his him and because his opinion was important to Kurt.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Kurt. When you told me that you wanted to transfer, I had many misgivings about it, but I put those aside not only because you seemed to genuinely want to leave Dalton, but also because, after talking to both Arthur and your father, I thought that perhaps McKinley would be a better place for you in the long run. I am less than pleased with what has transpired in the incredibly short time that you've attended the school.

If it were up to me, I would pull you out immediately, but as it is not, I must acquiesce to your decision. However, I cannot, in good conscience, ignore what you've told me today. As a concerned citizen, I am appalled by the running of what is a publicly funded school. As your grandfather, I am beyond angry that your complaints are going unheard. That being said, you need to think long and hard about where you would like to go from here. Do you want to simply pursue the implementation of your Gay-Straight Alliance, or do you want to go further than that?"

Kurt sat quietly for a while, letting his grandfather's words sink in. "Go further?" he finally asked curious by what his grandfather might have meant by that.

His grandfather took another sip of coffee before nodding. "Yes, with the recent influx of teen suicides, there has been a national outcry against bullying in schools. If the practices of the faculty and administration at McKinley were to, for instance, be placed under scrutiny by the media, well, then, I would be willing to wager that a great number of things would change."

Kurt chewed on his lower lip and fiddled with his empty cup. He thought about what his dad said before about rocking the boat, about how the slushies were because of his social status and not because of his sexual orientation. He thought about how he had felt during the conversation at dinner the previous night—like somehow everything that had happened so far was _his _fault for daring to be different, or that Finn's reputation and popularity was more important to his father than his own comfort and well-being. Then he thought about how blasé Tina and the other glee club members had been about being slushied, how indifferent Principal Figgins had been about everything. He thought about how surprised Artie had been about Kurt's perseverance in dealing with Figgins. He thought about how outraged he had been the first time he was slushied, how shocked he had been that a teacher had seen it happened and yet done nothing. No matter what he thought about it all came back to the inevitability of it all.

_"It's a social status thing, not a homophobic thing." _

_ "It's just one of those things that the football team does."_

_"Things are different at McKinley." _

_"All of the glee kids get slushied."_

Blaine's words echoed the loudest. _"That kind of hatred, it whittles away at you, Kurt. It changes you. You are the most effervescent person I have ever met. I don't want you to lose that."_

If things continued as they were, would he lose that? If he just fought for the GSA and things stayed the same, would he eventually become as desensitized as the others were now? He didn't want to find out.

"I want things to go further."

His grandfather had the same look on his face that he sometimes got when they placed chess together. He had taught Kurt how to play when he was only five, and it had taken several years for Kurt's skill to exceed his own, but once it had happened, a friendly rivalry revolving around the game had developed. The look was one indicating that he knew there was a challenge ahead but he was definitely looking forward to it.

"I want you to be very sure, Kurt, because things are likely to get ugly once the media gets a hold of things. I'm not trying to discourage you, by any means; I only want you to understand what the consequences of doing this will likely be. How do you think your father will feel about it? You have talked to him about this, haven't you?" His raised eyebrow was enough to tell Kurt that he knew the truth. He waited for Kurt to admit it though.

"He knows what's been going on, but I haven't talked to him about pursuing legal action. I know that he won't be happy about it. He didn't want me to start one in the first place."

His grandfather pursued his lips. "And why not?"

Kurt knew that look as well. His grandfather was not his dad's biggest fan on the best of days, and this certainly was not the best of days. "He's dating the mom of one of my classmates, and Finn—that's the son—wasn't too crazy about the idea. Dad seemed to agree with him at first. I'm not sure how he would feel about me doing this."

"Talk to him. Your father, for all of his faults, does care for you. Once you've talked to him, I'll call Landon and begin the process."

He nodded. Landon was the Prevot family attorney. During the settling of his mother's estate, Kurt had spent a ridiculous amount of time with the man. "So what do I do now?"

His grandfather cocked his head to the side. "Nothing," he said simply. "I will take care of it from here. All you have to do is concentrate on your schooling and your lessons. In fact, unless it is necessary for your role as a student, I don't want you to speak to Principal Figgins unless either Landon or myself is present. Speaking of lessons, do you mind if I sit in? Arthur says that you've chosen a piece from _Akhnaten, _and I would love to hear it."

It was amazing how wonderful it felt to hear those six words—_I will take care of it. _Kurt felt like a weight had been lifted off of him. His grandfather would take care of it—all of it. There was no reason for him to worry. Well, except for telling his dad, but he knew that his grandfather was right. His dad did love him, and he was fairly certain that if this was what Kurt wanted to do—and it was—that he would support him.

"That would be great. I've also chosen "Delizie, contenti" from _Giasone_ and "The Fairies Dance.""

They spent the next half hour talking about his upcoming auditions as well as the upcoming opera season. By the time they arrived at his vocal lesson, Kurt felt lighter than he had in months. The lesson itself went by in a whirl. His grandfather was suitably impressed but not too much that he stopped from pointing out that Kurt had been a little sharp at the beginning of "Hymn of the Sun" He didn't mind the criticism because he knew it to be true. Afterward, he stood around and listened to Arthur and his grandfather swap stories of their early years. It reminded him so much of how he had spent countless hours as a child—listening to his grandfather and his various associates—that Kurt expected to hear his mother scolding his grandfather about his language.

When it was time for him to leave for his pointe class, his grandfather walked him out to his car. Kurt gave him a hug. "We should do this more often. I've missed you."

He got a warm smile in return. "Call your grandmother, hmm? You know how she worries."

Kurt promised he would before climbing into his car to drive the 76 miles back to Lima.

Pointe with Isabella was brutal. She had started him off doing some barre work before having him switch shoes and then doing fifteen minutes of pointe work.

"Only fifteen?" he had asked. It seemed a little ridiculous to do so little.

Isabella had only smirked. "Let's just see if you can handle that."

He had handled it. Badly, _painfully_, but he had handled it. Except for the part where the big toe on his right foot was bruised.

Isabella had clucked disapprovingly when she'd seen him take the shoes off at the end. "Got to make sure to keep those toe nails trimmed, Hummel. You should go home and ice that. If you're lucky, you won't lose the nail."

He called Sam on the way home and told him about his toe problem as well as about seeing his grandfather.

"Wow…that is just…wow," he said when Kurt was finished. "Are you sure about, you know, everything?"

"Yes. I wish I didn't have to do it this way, but Figgins hasn't given me many options."

Sam sighed, and Kurt could almost hear the frown over the phone. "I know. Don't worry about practice tonight, just come over a little early in the morning, so we can get another practice in before we perform. We had two groups go today. Mercedes and Santana and then Mike and Tina performed today. They were all really good. We need to make sure we're flawless."

Kurt scoffed. "Me? I know I'm flawless. _You _need to make sure you can keep up with me."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, laughing. He paused. "I talked to Blaine today. He was acting a little… weird. Even for him."

"Weird how?" Kurt asked cautiously. The last time he'd seen Blaine had been on Monday, and he'd definitely acted weird then.

"I don't know. Kinda…nervous maybe? Mainly he just asked about you. A lot."

"Oh."

If this had happened even a month ago, Kurt would have been over the moon, but now? Now he wasn't so sure.

He heard a loud thump over the line. "Crap, I gotta go," Sam said. "Stevie and Stacey just knocked over an entire pitcher of Kool-aid. See you in the morning!"

Kurt was incredibly surprised to find no Finn or Carole at the house when he got home. His dad took one look at him limping and quickly ushered him into the living room.

"Damn, kid, that looks like it hurts," he said, wincing, as Kurt eased his shoe off his foot.

"Yeah, it does. Isabella says that icing it will help. If I'm lucky, I won't lose the nail."

"I'll go get you an ice pack," his dad said before disappearing into the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with the ice pack, some aspirin, and a bottle of water. Kurt stretched his legs across the couch so that he could place the pack on his foot.

He groaned a little when the ice pack made contact with his foot. "Pointe work is going to be the death of me."

"Here, take two of these," his dad said, handing him the aspirin and the water.

"Thanks."

"No problem. I wasn't sure when you would be home, but I made some dinner if you're hungry. It's that macaroni and fake cheese thing you like. Your friend—Sam—his mom gave me the recipe for it." He shuffled back and forth nervously. "Not sure how good it'll be, but I hope you like it. Molly said it's pretty hard to mess up."

Kurt gave his dad a wide smile. The fact that he had actually reached out and called Molly for the recipe to one of Kurt's favorite foods really meant a lot to him. "I'm sure it's fine."

"I'll just go, uh, get it for you. We can eat it out here on the TV trays."

He nodded and watched as his dad left the room. He was glad for some time alone with his dad, especially since he needed to talk to him about the GSA and Figgins, and he knew that it would be much easier to do without Finn around.

The opportunity came while they were eating. The dinner, while different from when Molly made it, was actually quite good. He was surprised, pleasantly so, by that. He was even more surprised that his dad seemed to enjoy it.

"How was school today?"

Kurt took a deep breath. "Not very good. Principal Figgins won't sign off on the Gay-Straight Alliance."

His dad's brow furrowed. "He say why not?"

It took a few minutes, but Kurt explained everything to his dad. About the discrimination, about the law Figgins was breaking, and then finally about his grandfather. He told him about the man's plans to sue for the right to form the club as well as pushing for a change in the way things were done at McKinley. When he was finished, his dad didn't say anything at first. He just stared ahead at some fishing show that was on the TV. Finally, he ran his hand over first his face and then through his hair.

"This really means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

He nodded. "It does."

"I'm not gonna lie to you, kid. I don't like it. I think it's gonna piss a lot of people off. Not that I really mind you pissin' anyone off; I just don't want you to get hurt," he sighed. "But if you think this is something you have to do, then that's what we'll do."

As far as declarations of support went, it wasn't much, but it was more than he had hoped for.

School the next day went as well as he thought it would. Sam had apparently filled Rachel in on the situation because she had been texting him since nearly dawn with ideas for what they could do and the number of the local ACLU chapter. She was so up in arms about it that it was all she could talk about throughout the day, even going so far as to meet him between classes to strategize.

It wasn't that Kurt didn't appreciate her efforts—because he did—it was that he had so many other things going on. That was why he had been so relieved that his grandfather said he would take care of it in the first place.

"We don't need to do anything, Rachel," he finally told her during lunch, irritation bleeding into his tone. His foot was aching, and he was only halfway through the day. He had no idea how he was going to make it for the rest of the day let alone his duet. To top it all off, he had ballet again tonight.

The expression on her face was so scandalized he almost wanted to laugh. "Of course we need to do something!" she exclaimed. "We can't just sit back and do nothing."

He sighed. "I told you that I had taken care of it. My grandfather is meeting with our family attorney today about the situation. He has it entirely under control."

When Rachel still seemed uncertain, Kurt pulled one of his grandfather's business cards out of his wallet. "Here. You can contact your grandfather yourself and ask for updates on the situation if you'd like, or you could have your fathers contact him. They may want to be involved as well."

Rachel stared at the card and then back at him. "Charles Prevot is your grandfather?"

"Yes," Kurt said simply. "He is. Now, I really have to go. Sam and I want to get in one more practice before we perform today in Glee."

Rachel nodded absently. "Thank you," she said. "And try soaking your toe in vinegar, it'll help."

Kurt's brow furrowed. "How'd you know?"

"Well, I've always been a bit psychic, but mostly it's because I've been there before," she said before giving him a bright smile. "Good luck this afternoon."

The rest of the day went by in a blur of classes during which Kurt spent most of his time thinking about their upcoming duet and ballet practice that would follow after that.

"You nervous?" Sam asked as Kurt adjusted his bowtie. It was nearly time for them to perform; they only had to make a few minor adjustments to their costumes—namely fixing Sam's bowtie.

They were both wearing the same outfit—a tuxedo with tails and cowboy boots. The only difference was that Kurt's bowtie and cummerbund were a vibrant shade of purple whereas Sam's were white.

Kurt shrugged. "Maybe a little. Now, then," he said, stepping away from Sam. "Try not to mess it up."

Sam gave him a wide grin. "I make no promises."

They waited outside the door until they heard Mr. Schuester announce them. Sam had wanted to just wait inside, but Kurt was incessant that he didn't want the rest of the club to see their costumes until it was time for them to perform.

Kurt took a deep breath and entered the classroom with Sam hot on his heels.

"That suit sure had me fooled," Sam exclaimed. "For a minute, I thought you were getting to be a gentleman! Gonna be a pleasure to give you a lesson in marksmanship."

Kurt scoffed with a flick of his wrist. "_You _couldn't give me a lesson in long-distance spitting." He poked Sam hard in the chest and began to sing. "_Anything you can do, I can do better. I can do anything better than you._"

Kurt tried to walk away, but Sam followed close behind him. "_No, you can't._"

The two friends stood chest to chest, each looking increasingly irritated as Kurt countered with. "_Yes, I can."_

_"No, you can't."_

_"Yes, I can."_

_"No, you can't."_

_"Yes, I can, Yes, I can!" _Kurt finished with his hands on his hips, a smug look on his face. 

Now it was Sam's turn to look smug. "_Anything you can be, I can be greater. Sooner or later, I'm greater than you._"

Kurt gave the Glee Club a disbelieving look before turning back to Sam. "_No, you're not._

_"Yes, I am."_

_"No, you're not," _Kurt sang with a huff, folding his arms across his chest.

Sam grinned and arched a brow. _"Yes, I am."_

_"No, you're NOT!"_

_"Yes, I am. Yes, I am!"_

With each repetition, they got closer and closer to one another until Sam practically snarled the last words in Kurt's face.

Sam took several steps in the opposite direction from where they had been standing. "_I can shoot a partridge with a single cartridge_."

Kurt flicked his shoulder. _"I can get a sparrow with a bow and arrow_," he countered, mimicking shooting a bow and arrow.

Sam pretended to think for a minute before singing, "_I can live on bread and cheese."_

_"And only on that?" _Kurt asked skeptically. 

_"Yes."_

Once again, Kurt scoffed. "_So can a rat!"_

Sam tapped his chin for a minute before his face lit up. _"Any note you can reach, I can go higher. I can sing anything higher than you."_

This was the part where Kurt's range played in his favor because he could _definitely _go higher than poor Sam. _"No, you can't."_

_"Yes, I can."_

_"No, you can't."_

_"Yes, I can."_

_"No, you can't."_

_"Yes, I can."_

_"No, you can't."_

_"Yes, I can."_

_"No, you can't."_

Once again, they had moved closer to one another with each repetition, and by the end, they were standing nose to nose. When it came time for Kurt to belt out the last portion, he turned away from Sam to face the audience.

_"Yes, I CAN!" _he sang with his arms spread wide. 

Sam huffed and stuffed his hands into his pocket while Kurt circled him. _"Anything you can buy, I can buy cheaper. I can buy anything cheaper than you."_

"Fifty cents?"

Sam asked with an air of boredom, picking lint off of his shirt as he did. 

_"Forty cents!"_

_"Thirty cents?"_

_"Twenty cents!"_

_"No, you can't!"_ Sam said, shrugging him off.

_"Yes, I can. Yes, I can!"_ Kurt put his hands on his hips and stomped his foot, feeling—and no doubt looking—like a petulant toddler.

Sam ignored Kurt's theatrics. _"Anything you can say, I can say softer. I can say anything softer than you."_

_"No, you can't."_

_"Yes, I can." _

_"No, you can't."_

_"Yes, I can."_

_"No, you can't."_

"_Yes, I can." _With each repetition, they got not only closer and closer together but their voices got softer and softer until you could scarcely hear them, and then Kurt belted out the last sentence. _"YES, I CAN!" _

Sam rolled his eyes before turning to the Glee Club. _"I can drink my liquor faster than a flicker."_

Not one to be outdone, Kurt did the same. _"I can drink it quicker and get even sicker!" _he sang holding his stomach and grimacing.

"_I can open any safe," _Sam sang as he swaggered across the stage.

_"Without bein' caught?" _Kurt asked with a lifted brow.

_"Sure."_

Kurt's eyes narrowed._ "That's what I thought-you crook!"_

Sam walked a wide circle around Kurt before singing, _"Any note you can hold, I can hold longer._

_"I can hold any note longer than you."_

There was never any doubt in Kurt's mind that that was true. Of course, being classically trained gave him an advantage that Sam didn't have. Still, he loved how arrogant Sam managed to be throughout the entire song—it was so completely different from his normal personality, but still, he loved it. 

"No, you can't."

_"Yes, I can."_

_"No, you can't."_

_"Yes, I can."_

_"No, you can't."_

_"Yes, I can."_

"Yes, I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I CA-A-A-A-N"

Kurt sang at the same time as Sam sang, "_No, you C-A-A-AN'T," _before dissolving into a coughing fit 

When Sam recovered from his fit, he sang, "_Yes, you ca-a-a-an!"_

With that, they turned back around to the glee club and gave two little bows.

Everyone clapped loudly, and Mr. Schuester gave them both wide smiles. "Now that was a duet! Who's next?" he asked as Kurt and Sam took their seats.

An oddly dressed Rachel and Finn headed to the front of the choir room. They were dressed in what appeared to be versions of a nun's habit and a priest's habit. His mouth fell open as they began to sing. He wasn't a religious person by any means—he didn't even believe in God—but their song choice and what they did with it was _highly _inappropriate. He wasn't the only person to think so either, if the looks the other members were giving the duo was any indication.

When they were finished, there was absolutely no applause. In fact, no one said a word until Mr. Schuester stood up. "That song was a wonderful duet, but what you guys did to it…" he shook his head. "Okay, is anyone else competing?"

A handful of people—Artie and some others whose names Kurt was still struggling to learn—shook their heads.

Mr. Schuester clapped his hands. "Alright, it's time to put it to a vote!"

The club took a few minutes to write down their choice on a slip of paper. It felt almost silly to vote for himself, but he just couldn't vote for Rachel and Finn, and since he hadn't seen any of the others, he was left with no choice.

It didn't take Mr. Schuester long to tally up the winners. "Even though nearly everyone voted for themselves—even those of you who didn't compete—we still have a winner." He paused for anticipation. "And the winner is: Kurt and Sam!"

The choir room exploded. Some—the Latina cheerleader—were furious while others—Rachel, for one—looked satisfied.

"You really are very talented," she told him afterward as he and Sam walked to his Navigator.

"Thanks," Kurt replied, pleased.

"Even if I would have chosen a different song, one that would have better showcased your abilities," she continued.

Kurt just gaped at her before laughing heartily. "I don't think you have any room to talk about song choices," he said through his laughter.

She at least had the decency to blush. "Well, no, I suppose I don't. Remember what I said about your toe," she told him before hurrying off to where Finn was waiting for her.

"Like I said," Sam started as Kurt drove him home. "Completely insane."

Ballet that night was every bit as excruciating as he thought it would be. Luckily Isabella wasn't completely heartless and sent him home early with strict instructions to spend the next couple of days icing it.

Carole and Finn were there watching the news with his dad when he got home. After saying hello to them, he headed into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. He was in the middle of taking a large gulp when his dad yelled for him. When he got back into the living room, everyone was staring intently at the television. That was when Kurt noticed his grandfather standing next to a reporter.

The reporter smiled into the camera before speaking, "_Coming up tonight, prominent business man and lobbyist Charles Prevot_ _talks about corruption in our local schools. Are our tax dollars being used to promote a political agenda within the Allen County School system? Are the teachers and administration at our local high schools turning a blind eye to violence against minority students? Find out at Action News 12 at 10._"

Kurt's eyes widened as the news went into a commercial break. A second later both the house phone and his cell phone began to ring.


End file.
